The Phoenix and the Serpent
by ReaderRavenclaw
Summary: “You can’t hurt a baby!” Even if the baby is Voldemort? Tom Potter, Harry's oldest son, is off to Hogwarts at last. But why does the Sorting Hat seem to think that he’d already been sorted? Have his parents been hiding something from him?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **All rights belong to J.K. Rowling. No profits are being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N: **_Many thanks to Elucreh, my beta-reader, for her excellent editing and suggestions._

_This is a revised version of the Prologue. All suggestions, comments, questions, and constructive criticism – whether in regards to plot, characterization, and/or writing skills – are very welcome._

**Prologue **

All the surviving members of the Order but three were scattered around the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, but no one spoke except in hushed, tense whispers. All eyes were fixed on an oversized clock that hung on the wall – a clock like the Weasley family clock but with only three hands. The names on the hands were Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, and Severus Snape, and all three hands were pointing straight up to _MORTAL PERIL_.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were huddled together in a corner of the room, all three gripping their wands tightly and watching the clock with obvious anxiety.

The faint noise of an ordinary clock striking the hour drifted downstairs from somewhere above.

Ginny's cold feeling of dread grew stronger; it had been half an hour already, and she was past caring about plans and spells and Voldemort; she only wanted Harry to return safely. "Shouldn't we try to rescue them?" she said, trying with little success to keep her voice from cracking.

"Not for at least another twenty minutes." Ron's freckles stood out against his pale face, but his voice was grimly determined. "We've been planning this for months; we have to give Dumbledore and Snape a chance to get Harry into position to perform the spell."

This was the best chance they would ever have to defeat Voldemort for good, Ginny knew that, but that knowledge did nothing to protect her from nightmarish images of Harry being tortured or killed as they all stood around waiting.

"I never imagined that it would be like this," Hermione quietly. "I always thought we'd face Voldemort together. Just waiting here like this feels like we've deserted him."

"Same for me," Ron said, his voice strained. "But this was the only way to keep Voldemort from discovering the plan, and at least Dumbledore and Snape are with him. And you've done more than your share already. This was all your idea to begin with."

Hermione shook her head. "It was Professor Dumbledore who created the spell… and you who planned most of the trap… and Ginny who convinced Harry to do it."

"But it was still your idea."

"Exactly. If Harry dies, it'll be my fault!"

"No it wouldn't, and Harry is _not_ going to die," Ron said sharply.

Hermione didn't look convinced, but she lapsed into silence.

The minutes passed with agonizing slowness. Then, quite suddenly, the three hands on the clock swung downwards to _SAFE_. For a moment Ginny stared at the clock in disbelief, then relief flooded through her with such strength that she felt dizzy. All around her, pandemonium broke out.

"Silence!" Moody's voice rang out across the room, magically amplified. Everyone swung around to look at him.

"The _moment_ that Harry or Dumbledore returns and confirms that Voldemort has indeed been defeated, you are each to Apparate directly to Auror headquarters, alert your group, and begin work immediately to apprehend your assigned Death Eater. We cannot afford to allow any of Voldemort's supporters to escape; remember the Longbottoms!"

The group swung around to face the doorway that led upstairs and fell silent once more, but now the silence was full of hope and anticipation. Within moments Harry himself came clattering down the stairs, looking exhausted, but his eyes shone, and Ginny had never been so overwhelmingly happy to see him.

Moody took a step forward. "Voldemort's gone?" he demanded brusquely.

Harry lifted a hand to brush his hair away from his forehead; his scar had vanished. "Yes," he said, smiling for the first time in weeks. "Voldemort is gone."

With a scattering of pops, everyone in the room but Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione vanished.

Ginny hung back, still barely able to believe that Harry was actually alive and well, as Hermione burst into tears and dashed forward to hug Harry. Ron was next; he stepped forward to shake his hand vigorously, a grin lighting up his face. "Good to see you again, mate," he said. "For a while there we weren't too sure that we ever would."

"Well, apparently I'm immune to death," Harry said, his expression wry and only half-joking. "Looks like you're stuck with me." He looked past Ron and Hermione to meet Ginny's eyes, and he smiled, eyes lighting up again. "Today?" he said.

"Yes," Ginny said, her smile growing.

"Today?" Hermione repeated, looking puzzled.

"You'll find it in a couple of hours at the latest," Ginny promised, and turned back to Harry, but her initial euphoria was beginning to wear off, and reality suddenly came crashing down.

"Where's Professor Dumbledore?" she asked anxiously. "And…the baby?"

The smile faded from Harry's face. "They'll be here any minute now. Dumbledore doesn't want any of the others to know… the details… of how we managed to defeat Voldemort, so I came ahead to… clear the area. Dumbledore would have, but he had to stay back with the baby; he's the only one who can bring another person here, because he's the Secret Keeper."

Ginny turned to watch the doorway, stomach clenching with apprehension all over again. Hermione's idea had seemed impossible, incredible, and Ginny had agreed with Harry about the baby, but now that it was actually happening, doubts were overwhelming her.

Snape swept into the room, looking as surly as ever. "Dumbledore is just behind me," he said, swinging his dirt-streaked cloak off from around his shoulders and tossing it over a nearby wooden chair.

"Indeed I am." Dumbledore himself walked into the room, eyes twinkling; in his arms was a bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep.

Hermione and Ron gathered around Dumbledore with expressions of awe and disbelief, but Ginny hung back, her anxiety only growing stronger. She heard the conversation around her as if from far away.

"It really worked!" Hermione breathed.

"Your best idea yet," Dumbledore said, smiling at her. "Voldemort may have been protected against death, but the power of time is inexorable."

Snape loomed over them suddenly, his face an expressionless mask. "Can he be killed now, Albus?"

Professor Dumbledore looked up from the bundle he carried to briefly meet Snape's eyes. "Yes," he said.

"You can't kill a baby!" Hermione broke in, looking horrified.

"This _baby_," Snape said, turning to her and almost snarling, "is the _Dark Lord_! The usual rules do not apply. Don't be foolish, girl!"

This was enough to shake Ginny out of her daze; she drew herself up to face Snape. "If he's raised by a normal family, he won't _be_ Voldemort!" Ginny said. "Hermione's right – we can't kill him."

"Are _you_ volunteering to adopt him?" Snape said, a sneer evident in his voice. "Who would possibly be willing to raise the_ Dark Lord_ as a son?"

Ginny opened her mouth to retort, but Hermione beat her to it.

"The family wouldn't have to know," Hermione argued. "He's an ordinary baby now!"

"No," Harry said, joining the conversation at last, his voice tired but steady. "He isn't. If nothing else, he's a Parselmouth, and we already know that he'll be ambitious. The family has to know, has to be able to keep him clear of anything related to the Dark Arts…."

Professor Dumbledore looked older than ever. "Professor Snape and Harry are both right," he said. "The baby is no longer Voldemort, but he can only be allowed to live if we find a family who can love him despite knowing whom he once was, a family that can steer him firmly away from anything Dark and who can keep him from discovering his identity…."

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Harry said. He glanced over at Ginny, his eyes questioning. She gave him a resigned nod, and Harry turned back to Dumbledore. "Who else do we know who speaks Parseltongue? And Tom Riddle and I even look alike. The baby would never have to know that he'd been adopted."

Hermione and Ron both looked shocked; even Dumbledore himself seemed mildly taken aback.

"And do you plan to raise this baby on your own?" Snape said mockingly. "Wonderful job you'd make of it, I'm sure. But of course, no son of the great Harry Potter could possibly turn to the Dark Arts."

"Severus!" Dumbledore said sharply, but he turned to Harry with questioning look. "Professor Snape does have a point," he said. "You have just turned nineteen yourself, and you are not married. How do you expect to care for a baby on your own?"

Harry looked over at Ginny, eyes pleading for help, and Ginny stepped forward. "He won't be alone," she said, trying to keep her voice as steady as possible. "Harry and I are engaged."

It was the first time that Ginny had ever seen the Headmaster look truly surprised. Hermione looked staggered, Ron's mouth was hanging open in shock, and Snape looked incredulous.

"Since… since when?" Hermione stammered. "That is – congratulations – I mean…."

"It's been unofficial for a while now," Harry explained. "We planned to make it official as soon as Voldemort was gone."

Ron's mouth was still hanging open, and despite the seriousness of the situation, Ginny couldn't help but grin. "So, Ron. What do you think of being Voldemort's Godfather?"

Snape stared at Ginny in disbelief. "You have _clearly_ lost your mind," he said. "Potter has always been one for martyrdom and heroics, but how can _you_ possibly be willing to do this? Have you forgotten how a sixteen year old Tom Riddle caused you untold trauma? When this boy grows up, his face will be one from your nightmares!"

Ginny's dislike for Snape flared up stronger than ever before. "No, I haven't forgotten," she said, her voice sounding icy even to her own ears. "Harry asked me, before he left, if I would be willing to do this. We discussed it - endlessly - and I've made my decision. Nothing you say will change it."

Snape whirled around to face Dumbledore. "Albus! Surely you won't allow this?"

Dumbledore looked from Ginny to Harry and then back again, his face grave. "Are both of you truly certain that you are willing to do this?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, and Ginny nodded. The idea of becoming a mother so suddenly was frightening, and adopting a baby – particularly this one – would be incredibly difficult, at least at first, but if she stood back and let the baby be killed, the decision would haunt her for the rest of her life.

"Mr. Weasley? Miss Granger?" Dumbledore turned to Ron and Hermione, both of whom still looked stunned. "Can either of you think of anything that I might have overlooked?"

"Yes!" Ron blurted out. "Mum will kill us!"

Ginny smiled, almost involuntarily – the comment was so _Ron_ – and the twinkle returned to Dumbledore's eyes.

"A good point indeed, Mr. Weasley. We must invent a suitably sympathetic background for our newest Potter."

"We can tell the truth," Harry pointed out. "His father was killed by Voldemort, his mother died in childbirth, he has no relatives to take him in…."

"Excellent," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Of course, we will only be telling this story to those closest to you, with strict instructions not to pass it on; we don't want Tom discovering later on that he was adopted."

"Won't everyone realize that something's odd, though?" Ginny said. "I can't just show up with a baby one day and expect everyone to believe it's mine!"

"Ginny's right." Hermione turned to Dumbledore. "Shouldn't we put the baby in a Stasis spell for a year or so? If Ginny and Harry get married within a couple of months, and Ginny uses some sort of Illusion to make it seem as though she's pregnant, no one except the Weasleys will have any way of knowing that the baby was adopted."

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "Stasis spells are tricky things. If prolonged, they are often harmful… but a year shouldn't be long enough to cause problems. Yes, your idea has a great deal of merit. Ginny, Harry, do you object?"

"Of course not!" Ginny said, relieved at the idea. "An extra year will make things _much_ easier. I didn't even think of using a Stasis spell."

"Severus?" Dumbledore turned to Snape, who had been standing off to the side with a scowl on his face. "What do you think of Hermione's suggestion?"

"Using a Stasis spell is a good idea," Snape admitted grudgingly. "Though I don't quite see how any idea can be a good one when it is a means of keeping the Dark Lord alive and well!"

"Voldemort has been destroyed," Dumbledore said sharply. "This baby has not experienced any of the events that led to Tom Riddle becoming Voldemort. The baby cannot be transformed back into Voldemort, nor can he access any of Voldemort's memories. I ask that you never refer to him as the Dark Lord or as Voldemort again."

Snape looked as though he wanted to protest, but Dumbledore kept him pinned with his gaze, and at last Snape nodded grudgingly.

"Very well, then." Dumbledore walked over to the long wooden table that stood in the middle of the kitchen and gently lowered the baby, still wrapped in blankets, onto the hard wooden surface. He stepped back, drew himself up, and raised his wand. "Noncommutabilis Annalis!"

A blinding jet of silver light shot out of Dumbledore's wand, and the baby was encased in an ethereal glow. Ginny and the others crowded around; the baby was completely still, without even the faint rise and fall of his blankets to show that he still lived.

For a full minute they all stood and looked at the little bundle.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that." He turned to Snape. "You will be needed at Auror headquarters, Severus," he said gently. "The Death Eaters that have been apprehended should be there by now, and Madam Bones will have many questions for you."

Snape nodded stiffly and disappeared.

"As for the rest of you…." Dumbledore smiled. "There is no reason at all to stay here. I must go hide Tom, but the rest of you should be joining in the celebrations. And I'm sure the rest of the Weasleys would all like to know that you two" – Dumbledore nodded to Harry and Ginny – "are engaged."

Ron shook his head and looked from Ginny to Harry, smiling. "I can't believe the two of you kept it a secret from me! My best mate and my little sister! It's a bit late, but I was too surprised before – congratulations!" He pulled Ginny into an awkward hug, and Ginny hugged him back tightly, her anxiety fading away. After all, a year was a long way off, and Voldemort was gone, and they were all safe, and she was engaged to _Harry_. Her previous exhilaration was beginning to return, and future seemed brighter than it ever had before.

"We didn't tell _anyone_," Ginny said, smiling at her brother, and then she stepped back as Ron turned to shake Harry's hand, beaming at him. Hermione dashed forward to envelop Ginny in a hug as well, and then they all stood looking at each other, Ginny and Harry standing side by side at last, all four of them beaming.

"The Burrow?" Dumbledore reminded them, and with a scattering of pops, the four of them Disapparated.

Dumbledore picked up the baby, Apparated to the gates of Hogwarts, and walked up the long drive to the now-deserted castle. The house-elves, with their instinctive knowledge of the castle layout, were only too eager to help, and within half an hour, the baby was safely hidden in a room that could only be found by a Hogwarts Headmaster.

"Good luck, Tom," Dumbledore murmured, looking down at the baby one last time. He turned on his heel, and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.


	2. Chapter One: Ollivander's Wand Shop

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

**_Chapter One – Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C._**

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of Ollivander's wand shop as Tom Potter and his father stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single spindly chair and thousands of narrow boxes piled right up to the ceiling. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Tom jumped.

"Mr. Ollivander," his father whispered to Tom, and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Tom.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes." He turned to Tom's father. "Your son, I presume?"

"Yes. My oldest."

Tom was unsettled by his father's voice; it was strangely tense.

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Tom. Tom wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy. "Odd," he said softly. "You look familiar…. Have you ever been in here?"

Tom shook his head, and felt his father's hand tightening on his shoulder.

"Maybe you've seen me passing by," he ventured. "I've been to Diagon Alley before."

"Perhaps." Mr. Ollivander said. "My memory is not what it once was." He had come so close that he and Tom were almost nose to nose. Tom could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

At last, to Tom's relief, Mr. Ollivander looked over at Tom's father. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple, wasn't it?"

Tom's father nodded and silently extending his wand for inspection. Mr. Ollivander ran a long, white finger over the wand and handed it back. "Not too worn, considering…. It's been through more than most wands, but it should last you well."

"I certainly hope so." Tom's father took back his wand and ran a finger over it himself. "I'm rather fond of it." He gave Mr. Ollivander a small smile.

"Yes, indeed," Mr. Ollivander said softly. "And you are still young, Mr. Potter. I expect many more great things from you in the future." He turned to Tom. "Well, now," he said, and pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"My right," Tom said.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Tom from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are just the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Tom suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring the space between his chin and mouth, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Elm and phoenix feather, eleven and a half inches, whippy. Just take it and give it a wave."

Tom took the wand eagerly and waved it around, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Holly and dragon heartstring. Ten inches. Quite supple. Try – "

Tom tried, but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"Mahogany and unicorn hair, twelve inches, swishy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Tom tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Just like your father. Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere…."

The pile of tried wands mounted higher and higher, and even Mr. Ollivander's enthusiasm began to dim.

"Perhaps try the used wands?" Tom's father suggested at last.

Mr. Ollivander turned to look at him sharply. "Pardon?" he said.

"Er…" Tom's father looked uncomfortable. "Professor Dumbledore mentioned to me once that you have quite a collection of used wands…. Perhaps Tom's match is among those."

"Most unusual," Mr. Ollivander said at last. "I have never done such a thing before…. Then again, I have never had such a difficult customer." He disappeared into the back of the shop and returned within moments, carrying a towering stack of boxes that wobbled dangerously. He set his load on the floor, steadied it, and selected a wand.

"Rowan, fourteen inches, rigid. Belonged to a Hogwarts Headmaster several centuries ago, I believe."

Tom tried the wand, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it from his hand. "No, no, certainly not," he said. "But I wonder, now…." Mr. Ollivander's long fingers hovered over one of the boxes, a box with a strange mark on it, but after a moment, he withdrew his hand. "No, never mind. Try this one instead - birch and dragon heartstring, twelve inches. Belonged to my grandfather. Go on, give it a wave."

Tom tried again, but Mr. Ollivander almost knocked him over in his haste to snatch it back. "Worse and worse!" Mr. Ollivander said. He tossed it to the side and again turned to the stack of boxes. This time he was still for quite a while, and at last his hovering hand strayed again to the marked box. "Try this," he said at last. "Yew and phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches, quite powerful."

Tom took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot form the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls.

"Oh yes indeed, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…."

He put Tom's wand back onto its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious…curious…"

"Sorry," said Tom, "but _what's _curious?"

Mr. Ollivander fixed Tom with his pale stare. For several moments he said nothing, and then suddenly his eyes widened.

With a swiftness that belied his old age, he whirled around to look at Tom's father. "A word, please," he said tersely, and gestured towards the back of the shop.

To Tom's surprise, his father looked pale. "I'll be right back," he said, and followed Mr. Ollivander into the shadows.

The minutes crept past. Tom walked around the shop restlessly. Why were Mr. Ollivander and his father acting so strangely?

The dust and silence were beginning to seem oppressive by the time his father and Mr. Ollivander returned. Mr. Ollivander now looked just as pale as Tom's father, and he refused to accept payment for the wand. "Take it, take it," he said, and bowed them from his shop. It might have just been Tom's imagination, but it seemed as though he was avoiding Tom's eyes.

At soon as they were out of shop, Tom's father turned to him, looking tense. "Promise me you won't mention this to Mum," he said.

"Why? What happened?" Tom was beginning to feel frightened. "What did Mr. Ollivander want to talk to you about? What was so strange about my wand?"

"Your wand is perfectly fine," his father said, managing a small smile. "I give you my word on that. But come on, we haven't gotten you a pet yet. Would you like an owl?" He began walking towards Eeylops Owl Emporium.

Tom hurried to catch up. "A pet?" he said. "I already have Medusa!"

His father stopped short. "You can't take a snake with you to Hogwarts!"

"Why not?"

"Didn't you read your letter? It said an owl, cat or toad. And most people are quite frightened of snakes, especially adders…."

"You told me once that Uncle Ron had a rat," Tom argued. "And you know that Medusa would never hurt anyone – and besides, she's my friend! It's bad enough that I have to leave you and Mum and the kids."

"Medusa is quite a bit bigger than a rat," his father pointed out. "And are you sure you feel comfortable letting everyone know that you're a Parseltongue? It's associated with Dark magic – people avoided me for several months when they found out."

"If I tell people that you're also a Parseltongue, no one will give me hard time about it. Everyone knows that _you're_ not a dark wizard!"

"Well... I suppose I can write to Professor McGonagall and ask for permission…."

"Oh, could you Dad? Please?"

"Well… all right, then. But I want something from you in return. No questions about what happened in Mr. Ollivander's shop, and don't tell Mum about it either. Deal?"

There was no way Tom could just forget about what had happened, but if his father had made up his mind not to say anything, no amount of badgering could possibly do any good. And he definitely didn't want Mum worrying as well. He'd just have to try to figure it out on his own. This way, at least, his father would agree to write to Professor McGonagall.

"Okay," Tom said at last. "It's a deal. If you can get me permission to bring Medusa to Hogwarts, I won't ask you any questions about my wand."

"Who said anything about getting you permission?" his father protested. "I said I'd write to McGonagall!" But he was smiling.

"How could Professor McGonagall say no?" Tom widened his eyes, putting on the innocent little-kid act that was a special joke between Tom and his father. "A shy first-year, scared to leave his family, desperate to take his pet with him…. And maybe the Slytherins will be friendlier if I have their house mascot as a pet."

"You wish," Tom's father said, smiling again. "Most Slytherins will hate you from the start… especially Professor Snape. Just ignore them. You'll be fine as long as you aren't sorted into Slytherin."

"Sorted into Slytherin?" Tom stared at his father in shock. "Why would I be sorted into Slytherin? You and Mum were both in Gryffindor!"

"Well…" his father looked uncomfortable. "The Sorting Hat wanted to place me in Slytherin, at first. But I was terrified of landing up in Slytherin, so I was concentrating on _not Slytherin, not Slytherin_… and it finally put me in Gryffindor."

"Really?" Tom looked at his father in amazement. "Wow."

"You and Mum are the only people who know this, you understand. I don't particularly want the newspapers to find out."

"I'll keep it a secret," Tom promised. "But do you really think the Sorting Hat will try to put me in Slytherin too?"

"Yes," his father said, looking serious. "You're also a Parseltongue – Salazar Slytherin himself was a Parseltongue, you know – and you're definitely ambitious." Suddenly he grinned. "Head of the Auror department, or the Minister of Magic, or Headmaster of Hogwarts? A pretty impressive list when it's an eleven-year-old's plan for the future."

But Tom didn't smile in return. He was beginning to feel anxious. "What if the Sorting Hat really does put me in Slytherin?" he asked.

"You'll just have to make the best of it," his father said firmly. "I know my stories make it sound like all Slytherins are evil, but the truth is that there are some good people in Slytherin as well. Even Professor Snape is fairly decent; he hates me, but without him we never could have defeated Voldemort."

"Grandma would be _horrified_ if I was put in Slytherin," Tom said, just barely suppressing a shudder at the thought.

"Yes, well…. You understand I don't _want_ you to end up in Slytherin – and if you concentrate on _not_ being put in Slytherin, you probably won't be – but if you do end up in Slytherin, I don't want you to be miserable." Tom's father gave his shoulder a squeeze, and Tom managed a smile.

"That's the spirit," his father said, smiling in return. "Let's go home. Mum will be expecting us, and if we hurry, we'll have time for some flying before supper."

"Can't we do something else?" Tom protested as they headed towards the fireside at The Leaky Cauldron. "I'm hopeless at flying; even Jamie's already better than I am."

"Well… all right," his father said, but he looked disappointed. "What would you like to do?"

"Chess?"

"Oh no!" his father said in mock panic. "You've been playing with Uncle Ron again, haven't you?"

Tom nodded. "I still haven't managed to beat him, but he told me I'm getting close." The memory of the praise still tingled; Uncle Ron was brilliant at chess, and he didn't give out compliments too often.

"You'll miss him, won't you?" his father said softly, pausing outside The Leaky Cauldron.

"He promised to write… and Aunt Hermione told me she'd make sure he really does."

"Well, then, you have nothing to worry about," his father said, smiling. He pushed open the door and together they walked into the dark and shabby interior of the pub. "Ron will miss you even more than you'll miss him … and the same goes for me and Mum. And you'll love Hogwarts; there's nothing quite like it." His face softened. "It was my first real home, you know. I still miss it."

"Harry! Good to see you!" A tiny man who Tom didn't recognize hurried over to them, beaming. "And this must be your son. Off to Hogwarts this year?"

Tom nodded, and his father rested a hand on his shoulder. "We're in a bit of a rush," he apologized "My wife's expecting us back."

"No matter, no matter. I'll be seeing your son soon enough, and I must say, I'm looking forward to having him as a student. Your wife had quite the gift for charms, and your work was excellent as well."

"Thank you, Professor," Tom's father said, looking pleased, and the little man shook his father's hand vigorously and disappeared into the crowd.

"Professor Flitwick," Tom's father explained. "Don't let his appearance fool you; he's brilliant, and he's a fantastic teacher. But it really is getting late; go on, you first."

Tom took a pinch of the glittering Floo Powder from the jar his father held out and threw it into the fire. The fire turned emerald green and shot up with a roar. Tom tightened his grip on his new wand, stepped into the flames, and said, "Godric's Hollow!"

Tom was used to traveling by Floo powder, but the uncontrolled spinning still made feel sick. Just as he was seriously wishing that he hadn't eaten the ice-cream his father had bought for him, he stumbled out of the living room fireplace. He noticed little Derrick with just enough time avoid knocking him over, but his abrupt change in direction unbalanced him. He tripped over the tower of blocks that Derrick was building, sending the wooden pieces scattering as he crashed to the ground.

"Hey!" Derrick said. "Broke my castle!"

It took Tom a moment to catch his breath. "Your castle almost broke me!" he said. He sat up gingerly and carefully ran a finger over one of his newly-formed bruises.

"Tom? Are you okay?"

Tom turned his head; his father had just stepped out of the fireplace behind him.

"I'll live," Tom said.

"Tom broke my castle, Daddy!" Derrick accused, his chubby face wrinkled up in indignation.

"You know you're not supposed to play so close to the fireplace, Derrick," their father said, putting on a stern expression. "Tom tripped over your blocks, and he hurt himself."

"You hurt, Tom?" Derrick said, looking worried.

"Nah, I'm fine," Tom said. He stood up and swung his little brother into the air.

Derrick squealed, and their father smiled. "Can you keep an eye on him for a minute, Tom? I'd like to go tell Mum we're back. You can get out the chess set, meanwhile, but make sure Derrick doesn't lose any of the pieces." He dropped the bulging bags of school supplies and robes he'd been carrying onto the floor. "Bring these to your room, and if you get a chance, it would be great if you could clean up in here; Dobby's busy making supper."

Tom's father left through the archway that led to the dining room before Tom had chance to protest, and then Derrick was tugging at his arm. "Again!" he demanded.

"Okay, then. You asked for it!" Tom spun him around, then dropped him onto the couch and began tickling him. Derrick's laughter was contagious, and Tom couldn't help but smile.

"Thiss room iss a messs."

Tom released Derrick and turned around. Medusa was slithering into the room, her tongue flicking in and out as she surveyed the cluttered floor.

"Yeah, I noticed," Tom said, his cheerful mood evaporating. "And I'm supposed to clean up…."

"Wass your trip to Diagon Alley ssuccesssful? Did you get your wand?"

Tom gasped. "My wand!" he said. "I dropped it when I fell. Where is it?" He quickly swung Derrick down from the couch and looked around the room in dismay. Blocks were scattered all across the room, along with assorted stuffed dragons, picture books, and Jamies' elaborate train-set, but his wand was nowhere in sight.

Hoping desperately that the wand was still intact, Tom began throwing the blocks back into their bin. Derrick joined in enthusiastically, but most of the blocks he threw landed nowhere near the bin, and one came perilously close to hitting Medusa.

"Be careful, Derrick!" Tom said, and Medusa hastily slithered up onto the couch and out of the way.

Most of the blocks were off the floor by the time Tom at last uncovered the long, thin box that held his wand. One edge of the box was slightly dented, but when he opened it up, he was relieved to find that the wand itself wasn't even scratched. He carefully closed the box and put it up on the mantelpiece, then collapsed onto the couch next to Medusa in relief.

"Wass it damaged?" Medusa asked.

"No, it's fine," Tom said. "A good thing, too. Mr. Ollivander – that's the owner of the wand shop, he's ancient – he had a really hard time finding me a wand."

"What you saying, Tom?" Derrick asked, tugging at his trouser leg.

"I was telling Medusa that my wand didn't get broken when I fell," he explained. "Go and play with the blocks; I want to talk to Medusa for a few minutes."

Derrick pouted, but he toddled off towards the now-full bin of blocks.

"It iss too bad that none of your ssiblings sspeak Parsseltongue as do you and your father," Medusa said, raising herself slightly and turning in Derrick' direction. "Sstill, it iss a rare gift; not many ssnakess have had converssation with even one."

"At least this way, we don't have to worry about anyone except Dad overhearing us."

"True," Medusa said. "Privacy hass itss benefitss. I ssusspect that you will be very glad of our ssecret language once we are at Hogwartss."

"I just hope I'm allowed to take you with me," Tom said.

"What?" Medusa reared her head as she did when startled. "Why do you ssay thiss?"

"Officially, we're only allowed to take along an owl, cat, or toad," Tom explained. "I convinced Dad to owl Professor McGonagall – she's the Headmistress – for special permission to bring you, but I don't know for sure. I think she'll let, though."

"I certainly hope sso," Medusa said, coiling herself back up. "Your father iss quite an interessting converssationalisst, but he is a busy man."

"Is that the only reason you want to come along?" Tom protested. "So that you won't be bored?"

"Of coursse not!" Medusa said. She slithered onto his arm and coiled herself around his shoulders. "You know I would misss you if I was forced to remain."

"I would miss you too," Tom said, running a finger down the criss-cross pattern on Medusa's shimmering olive green scales. "With you there, it'll almost be like home."

"Well, there iss no use worrying about what might happen," Medusa said. "Tell me about your day. What wass it like to hold your wand for the firsst time?"

"Getting my wand was actually a bit creepy," Tom said, frowning. "Dad and Mr. Ollivander were both acting strange, and then they went to the back of the store to talk privately, so I have no idea what it was all about. Dad made me promise not to tell Mum about what happened, and I'm not even supposed to ask _him_ questions. There's no way I can just forget about it, though; maybe once I'm at Hogwarts I'll be able to find out more."

"That ssounds like a wise plan," Medusa said. She slithered off his shoulders and coiled herself up next to him. "Will you –"

But Tom had just noticed that Derrick was gleefully throwing block after block at a purple and green stuffed dragon that was perched on the armchair, and he was getting dangerously close to hitting the decorative earthenware jugs scattered around the room.

"Der-ri-ick!" Tom said, and jumped up from the armchair to grab the bin away from him.

Derrick promptly burst into tears.

"Medusa, I'm really sorry, I can't talk to you now," Tom said hastily. "I have to take care of Derrick and I'm supposed to be cleaning up – maybe after supper?"

"That ssoundss jusst fine," Medusa said.

Derrick began to pound Tom's legs with his fists. "Want my blocks!"

"Nope, you lost your chance," Tom said. He put the blocks on a shelf out of reach, and Derrick' wails promptly doubled in volume.

Tom ignored him and glumly looked around the room. Now that Derrick had thrown most of the blocks out of the bin again, the room was nearly as messy as it had been before. Tom sighed and began to clean up. Going to Hogwarts was beginning to sound better and better.

* * *

**A/N: **All suggestions, questions, and constructive criticism are welcome, and all reviews are very much appreciated.


	3. Chapter Two: Platform 9 34

**Disclaimer:**  This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. In addition, I have copied several passages from Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone verbatim.  No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:**  Thanks are due to Elucreh, my wonderful beta-reader.

**_Chapter Two – Platform Nine and Three-Quarters_**

Tom's last week at home was a blur of packing, endless hugs from his mother, and special visits from his many aunts, uncles, and cousins.  George – he refused to be called "Uncle" – had even managed to slip him a package which was to be kept strictly hidden from his mother and not opened until he arrived at Hogwarts.  Derrick was too young to understand what all the fuss was about, but Lily and Emily tagged along after Tom wherever he went, and even Jamie admitted that he'd miss him.  McGonagall owled back at last with permission for Medusa to accompany Tom to Hogwarts, but warned that if Medusa bit _anyone_, she'd be sent home at once.  ("Ass if I would ever do ssuch a thing!" Medusa had said in indignation.)

September the first dawned bright and clear, and Tom woke up as the first pale streams of light came filtering in through his bedroom window.  By the time Tom had gotten dressed, eaten a hasty breakfast, and double and triple-checked his trunk, the rest of the family was beginning to wake up.

Lily, Emily, and Derrick, over-excited by the tense and eager atmosphere in the house, wouldn't sit still for a moment, and it took the combined efforts of Tom, his Mum, Dad, and Dobby to get everyone dressed and fed.  The hands of the clock were inching closer and closer to "You're late!" by the time the whole family – except Dobby and Derrick – were all piled in the borrowed car and ready to go.

"Medusa, are you comfortable?" Dad asked in Parseltongue, adjusting the mirrors of the car and checking the strange lights and numbers behind the steering wheel.  

"Yess, thank you," Medusa said.  "Thiss traveling case iss perfect."

"Well then, we're off!" Dad said, and shifted the car into gear.

Lily and Emily were fascinated enough by the relative novelty of using something so completely Muggle that they kept quiet for most of the car ride, but Jamie asked endless questions about batteries and electricity and other Muggle inventions.   Tom was mostly quiet; it was hard to believe that this was the last he would be seeing of his family for months.

They reached King's Cross at a quarter to eleven.  Dad heaved Tom's trunk onto a cart while Tom carefully picked up Medusa's traveling case and fastened the top.  Mum grabbed hold of Lily and Emily's hands, and with Dad wheeling the cart, they all headed into the station.

Jamie looked around wide-eyed at the throngs swarming past.  "These people are all Muggles?" he asked at last after several minutes of walking.

"Yes," Dad said, smiling.  "Though I expect some of the families are wizard families; platform nine and three-quarters is just ahead, behind that barrier over there.  Tom, you go first.  Just walk straight at the barrier, and don't worry about crashing into it."

The barrier looked very solid.  Tom knew perfectly well that it wasn't really, but the idea of walking into a brick wall still wasn't very appealing.  Tom tightened his grip on Medusa's traveling case and broke into a determined half-run.  His nerve failed him at the last moment and he shut his eyes, half-expecting to knock himself senseless. 

But there was no crash, and Tom opened his eyes.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people.  A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock.  Tom looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it.  As he watched, the cart and trunk and then Dad appeared through archway.  

"Looks just as I remember it," Dad said, smiling.  "I haven't been here for a while – it's nice to see it all again."

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs.  Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntle sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats.  

"Wow!"  Jamie had come hurtling through the barrier and was looking around eagerly; Mum and the two girls followed him. 

"Let's find you a seat, Tom," Mum said briskly.

With Dad pushing the cart, they all headed down the platform.

"Do you think Adrian is here yet?" Mum said. 

"Definitely," Dad said, grinning.  "Fleur would never be so late.  Adrian wouldn't want his Mum hanging around, though, so chances are she's left by now.  Adrian's probably on the train already, but don't worry, he'll find Tom once they're at Hogwarts and show him around."

Jamie was the one who found an empty compartment at last, near the end of the train.  Tom went in first and put Medusa's traveling case on one of the seats, then opened the lid to check on her.  She was asleep, so Tom left the lid unfastened and went back outside to help his father with the trunk.  Together, they heaved the trunk onto the train and tucked it away in a corner of the compartment, then rejoined the rest of the family outside on the platform.

For a minute they all just stood around silently, looking at each other.

"So… this is it," Dad said at last.  "You're really leaving."

"We'll miss you, Tom," Mum said, giving him a hug.  "Learn as much as you can, but don't forget to have fun."

"I still remember my first year at Hogwarts," Dad said, smiling.  "It was wonderful.  You'll love Hogwarts, Tom, I'm sure of it."

A whistle sounded.

"Already?  Hurry – you don't want to be left behind!"  Tom's mother gave him once last hug, and Tom dashed off to join the remaining few students jostling to get onto the train.  When he reached his compartment at last, he leaned out the window to wave goodbye to his family.

"Don't get into too much trouble without me, Jamie," Tom said.  "I'll miss you, everyone.  Try to make sure Derrick doesn't forget me completely, okay?"

"I'll make sure he doesn't," his mother said, her eyes glistening.  

"I'll write, Mum," Tom promised.  "I'll tell you everything that happens.  Well, maybe not if I get into trouble, but everything else." 

Tom's father grinned.  "A wise plan," he said, and then, looking suddenly serious, he switched over to Parseltongue.  "Tom, remember what I told you about the Sorting Hat.  No matter which house you end up in, though, always know that we love you, and don't do anything that I would disapprove of." 

"I won't," Tom promised.

The train began to move, and after one last chorus of good-byes, Tom watched his waving family fading into the distance, his throat tightening.

"Anyone sitting with you?"  A short, blond-haired boy was standing in the open doorway of the compartment, his trunk beside him.  "Everywhere else is full."

Tom shook his head.  The boy dragged his trunk into the compartment, sat down, and grinned.

"My name's Adam," he said.  "First-year too?"

"Yes," Tom said.

"Do you have any older brothers or sisters here?"

"No, I'm the oldest."

"I have an older brother, but he's a – what do you call it? – Muggle.  So are my parents.  I have a twin sister, though, and she's here too.  It was a real shock when we got our letters.  Is your family all wizards?"

"Yes.  Well, I think my father has a few relatives that are Muggles, but I've never met them."

"Wow.  You must know loads of magic already, then."

"Not really.  We don't get wands until we're old enough to start at Hogwarts.  I only know what I've read in books.  Well, except for Defense Against the Dark Arts – that's my father's specialty, so I've probably picked up enough to have a bit of a head start.  That's just one subject, though, and anyway, there are plenty of people who come from Muggle families and they aren't any slower than everyone else – don't worry about it."  

"What's Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"It's mostly learning how to protect ourselves against dangerous magical creatures and against different kinds of curses.  We won't be doing any real wand work in first year, though, we'll just be doing theory."

Adam grinned.  "Sounds exciting," he said.  "Are there any regular classes?  You know, like math and stuff?"

"No, Hogwarts is just for learning magic.  We don't use our wands for all our classes, but even so, our most Muggle-like class is History of Magic, and that's all _about_ magic, even if we're not actually learning anything magical."

While they had been talking, the train had carried them out of London.  Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep.  They were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past.

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Tom, who hadn't eaten anything since early in the morning, leapt to his feet and went out into the corridor, and Adam followed after him.  The cart was loaded with the usual sweets, but Adam stared at it in amazement.

"What _is all this stuff?" he asked._

"My favorites are the Pumpkin Pasties and Cauldron Cakes, but it's all good.  We can get a little of everything – my Dad gave me quite a bit of pocket money."

Adam looked surprised.  "I'm fine, thanks," he said.  "My parents got some regular money changed at Gringotts.  I still think that wizard money is weird, but I have plenty of it."

Tom selected only his favorite pasties and cakes, but Adam took Tom's advice and got a little of everything.  They brought it all back in to the compartment and tipped it onto an empty seat, then began to eat their way through it.

"What are these?" Adam asked Tom, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs.  "They're not really frogs, are they?"  

"No," Tom said.  "Gross.  No, they're just chocolate.  Some people like the cards, though."

"What?"

"Oh right, I keep forgetting you're Muggle-born.  Cards of famous witches and wizards – kids collect them.  My younger brother has about eight hundred, but of course my uncle started him off with more than five hundred cards from _his old collection.  Go on, see which card you got."_

Adam unwrapped his Chocolate Frog and picked up the card.  He stared at the picture, then turned it over to read the back.

"Who'd you get?"

"A man named Harry Potter."

There was a Chocolate Frogs card of his _father_?  Wasn't Dad still too young for that?  "Can I see?"

"Sure."

Tom took the card and read:

HARRY POTTER  
Currently Head of Department  
Magical Law Enforcement

_A powerful wizard who is honored for his outstanding courage, Potter is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Voldemort (also referred to as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) in 1981, which earned him his first title as The Boy Who Lived, and for his subsequent and final defeat of Voldemort in 1999.  While still a student at Hogwarts, Harry Potter was Champion of the Tri-School Tournament and a gifted Quidditch player, a game which he still greatly enjoys._

Tom turned the card back over, but his father's image was gone.

"Adam?  Can I keep this one?"

Adam was unwrapping another chocolate frog, but he looked up and said, "Sure.  Why?"  

"Well… it's my father," Tom said awkwardly.  "It'll be nice to have a picture of him around.  I didn't think to bring along any pictures of my family."

"Your father?  Wow!  Not that I have the faintest idea about even half of what the card was talking about, but it sounded pretty impressive."

"Yeah, well.  He's definitely famous, and he's done loads of stuff, but I don't usually think about it – he's just my Dad."

The compartment door slid open and a small girl with chin-length blonde hair came in, already wearing her Hogwarts robes.  "Hey, Adam," she said, smiling.  "Found the sweets already?"

"Where have you been?" Adam asked.

"Oh, just around, trying to find out about teachers and stuff, getting to know the other first-year girls…."  

"Typical," Adam said, grinning at her.  He turned to Tom.  "This is my sister Jennifer," he explained.  "Jennifer, this is – uh – "  He turned to Tom again, looking sheepish.  "Sorry, I can't believe I forgot to ask you.  What's your name?"

"Tom," he said, grinning.

"Hi, Tom," Jennifer said.  "Nice to meet you."  She turned back to Adam.  "Listen, I've been asking around about the houses at Hogwarts, and I don't think we're going to end up in the same one – they sort us based on our personalities."

"How can they possibly know enough about us to do that?" Adam asked, frowning.

"Well, it's magic," Tom said.  He looked at Jennifer.  "Why?  Which house do you think the two of you will be in?"

"I'll probably be in Ravenclaw," she said.  "At least, that's the house I want to be in.  Adam's brilliant, but he'll almost definitely be in Gryffindor – he's always sticking up for other people, and it takes a lot to scare him."

"Hey, thanks!" Adam said, grinning.

"Of course, he can also be incredibly annoying," Jennifer added.  "What about you, Tom?  Do you know where you'll be?"

"Well, my parents were both in Gryffindor, and I hope I'll be put there as well, but no one really knows for sure until they're sorted."

"Yes, that's what everyone's been saying – well, not everyone.  A couple of people are sure they know which house they'll be in, but most people are nervous.  Anyway, I'll see both of you later – we're almost there, you know, you two should change into your robes."

"See you," Adam said, and Jennifer left the compartment and slid the door shut behind her.

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder.  The neat fields had gone.  Now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills.  Tom and Adam turned back to the sweets.

"Did you try the Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans yet?" Tom asked.

"No."  Adam opened a bag and chose a red bean.

"You want to be careful with those," Tom warned.  "When they say every flavor, they _mean_ every flavor.  They have normal flavors like cherry and peppermint and chocolate, but you can also get mustard and spinach and grass."

Adam looked at his bean carefully, then bit off a corner.

"Chili pepper!" he gasped.  He grabbed his bottle of pumpkin juice and gulped it down.

Tom grinned.  "I warned you," he said.

The compartment door slid open again, and two older-looking boys entered.    Both were tall and burly, one with black hair and one with blond, and they looked over at Tom and Adam appraisingly.

 "What are your names?" the black-haired boy asked.

"Adam Sutherland."

"Tom Potter."

 "Harry Potter's son?" the boy asked.

"Yes," Tom said warily.

"Thought so," the boy said.  "Saw you with your father on the platform; that's why we stopped by."  He gestured to his blonde-haired companion.  "This is MacDougal; my name is Rosier."

"Rosier?" Tom said.  "Isn't that the name of – "  He stopped abruptly.

"Yes," Rosier said, suddenly scowling.  "My uncle was a Death Eater.  Hoping to join your father in the fight against evil?  Planning to send me to Azkaban?"  

"No," Tom said, flustered.  "I was just…."

"Spare me your pathetic explanations," Rosier said, cutting him off.  "My father warned me that you'd be an arrogant little brat, and I see he was right on target."  He glanced over at the Chocolate Frog card of Tom's father that was lying on the seat near Tom and his scowl deepened.  "Taking along proof of how famous your father is?  I think I'll do everyone a favor and throw this out a window."    He snatched up the card.

Both Tom and Adam stood up.

"Give that back!" Tom said.

"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?"  MacDougal said, sneering.

"Unless Rosier gives Tom his card back and you both get out now," said Adam, glaring back.

"And who are _you?" Rosier said.  He looked at Adam contemptuously.  "Sutherland, you said?  There's no wizarding family that _I_ know of by that name."_

"My parents are Muggles, if that's what you want to know," Adam said.  "Now give that back!"  

"A Mudblood?"  Rosier looked outraged.  "And you dare tell me what to do?"  He grabbed a handful of Adam's shirt and shoved him sideways, sending him sprawling across two seats.   "Learn to speak less insolently to your betters, or next time you'll get a lot worse!" 

Adam scrambled to his feet, looking furious.  "There won't _be a next time!" he said.  He snatched the card away from Rosier and stuck it in his pocket.  "You caught me by surprise just now – go on, let's see what you can do when I'm ready for you!"_

"And you'll have to take me on as well," Tom added defiantly, moving to stand beside his new friend.  He tried not to let his fear show on his face; if the two older boys used magic, he and Adam would be completely defenseless. 

"MacDougal, keep the Potter kid from starting up," Rosier said, barely sparing Tom a glance.  "I'll teach this flobberworm here some respect."

MacDougal nodded, and before Tom could react, he found his hands pinned together behind his back.  He struggled, trying to kick out at MacDougal, but the burly teenager knocked him to the floor and sat on his legs.  Still struggling, Tom watched helplessly as Rosier drew his wand and pointed it at Adam.

"Petri-"

"Friendss of yourss, Tom?"   Medusa hissed.  She slithered out of her traveling case and onto the seat, flicking her tongue in and out as she surveyed the room.

Rosier and MacDougal both turned pale.  MacDougal released Tom and he and Rosier fled, almost crashing into each other in their haste to leave the compartment. 

Tom sat up and rubbed his bruised wrists.  "Thanks, Medusa," he said in Parseltongue, giving her a shaky smile.  "Perfect timing."

"I could ssmell your fear."  Medusa slithered up Tom's arm and looped herself around his shoulders.  "How hass your journey been sso far?"

"Okay – until those two showed up.  They – "

"Are you _talking to that __snake?" _

Tom turned around.  Adam was staring at him wide-eyed; he had backed away to the farthest end of the compartment. 

"Yes, this is my – well, not pet exactly, because I'm a Parselmouth, I can talk to snakes.  Medusa is more like a friend.  You can come back here; she would never bite anyone."

"You're _joking," Adam said.  "You can talk to snakes?  Any snake?"  He came forward cautiously and stared at Medusa in fascination.  _

"Who iss thiss boy?" Medusa asked.

"I met him here on the train," Tom explained, switching back to Parseltongue.  "He's a Muggle-born, so he's never heard of Parselmouths.  Which is a good thing, really, because a lot of people think that all Parselmouths are dark wizards.  Listen, Medusa – I think that once we get to Hogwarts, it'll be better if you stay on the train to get taken in with my trunk.  I don't want any of the other kids getting scared before I have a chance to explain.  Is that okay with you?"

"Yess, certainly," Medusa said.  "I will return to my ssleep."  She slithered back into the case and curled herself up, and Tom re-fastened the lid.

Adam was still watching, eyes wide.  "That language is really creepy," he said.  "Can a lot of wizards talk to snakes?"

"Nah, it's extremely rare.  I got it from my father, he's a Parseltongue as well, but I think we might be the only two Parseltongues alive."

"Cool," Adam said.  "You'll have to tell Jennifer – she would _love_ to be able to do something like that.  She was planning to be a veterinarian before we got our Hogwarts letter."

"What's a veterinarian?" Tom asked.

Adam looked surprised.  "An animal doctor."

"A doctor is a Muggle Healer, right?"

"Uh – I guess so."

"And you have special Healers just for animals?  Weird."

"What's strange about that?  Animals get sick and hurt just like people, don't they?  Besides, you actually _talk_ to snakes – you shouldn't be calling _anything_ weird!  Oh, and here's the card of your father – I almost forgot."  Adam took the card from his pocket and handed it to Tom.

"Thanks," Tom said, pocketing it.  "Sorry – I didn't mean to get you involved."

"That was _not your fault – those boys are creeps.  But what's a Death Eater?"_

"The dark wizard that my father defeated – Voldemort – had a bunch of followers called Death Eaters who went around killing and torturing people."

"That's horrible!" Adam said.  "They're not still around, are they?"

"Most of them are dead or in prison, but there are some who are still around, in hiding.  But don't worry, Hogwarts is really safe, one of the safest places in the world, and besides, there haven't been any attacks reported in years and years."

The compartment door slid open to reveal Tom's third-year cousin Adrian.

 "Alright, Tom?" he asked, smiling.

"Hi, Adrian," Tom said, grinning back.  "Everything's fine, thanks."

"Great.  Listen, I just stopped by to let you know that we'll be at Hogwarts any minute now – you two should definitely change to your robes.  I'll see you at Hogwarts, okay?"  He gave Tom another quick smile and left the compartment, closing the door behind him.

Tom peered out of the window and saw that it was getting dark.  Mountains and forests were silhouetted against a deep purple sky, and the train did seem to be slowing down.

He and Adam took of their jackets and pulled on their long black robes.

"I feel like I'm a little kid again and it's Halloween," Adam said, grinning.

"Halloween?"  Tom asked, puzzled.  "Why?"

"Well, I don't know about wizards, but Muggles – the kids – sometimes dress up on Halloween, and a lot of them dress up as witches or wizards."

Tom stared at Adam in shock.  "But – how do they know?  It's supposed to be a secret!  Muggles know about magic?"

Adam laughed.  "No, of course not," he said.  "They don't think that witches and wizards are actually real – they're just dressing up, pretending.  The truth is that _I'm still finding it hard to believe that this all real, that it isn't just a dream, and wearing these robes just adds to the strangeness of it all."_

Tom looked down at his own robes and then at Adam.  "They're pretty ordinary… but I guess anything seems strange if you're not used to it."

A voice echoed through the train:  "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time.  Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately."

It was almost time for the Sorting, then.  Tom's stomach lurched with nerves and Adam, he saw, was looking suddenly pale.  They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined the crowd thronging the corridor.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped.  People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform.  Tom shivered in the cold night air.  Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Tom heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years!  Firs' years over here!  Good ter see you, Tom!"

Tom had known Hagrid ever since he could remember, and seeing his beaming face now over the sea of heads was somehow comforting.

"C'mon, follow me – any more firs' years?  Mind yer step, now!  Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path.  It was so dark on either side of them that Tom thought there must be thick trees there.  Nobody spoke much, and Tom found himself wishing he could see in the dark as well as Medusa could.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts jus' round this bend here," Hagrid called over his shoulder.

There was a loud "Oooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake.  Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.  None of his parents' descriptions could possibly have prepared Tom for its magnificence.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore.  Tom and Adam found themselves a boat, and Jennifer detached herself from the crowd of first-years to join them.  "We might as well stick together until the Sorting," she told Adam cheerfully.  

"Being in different houses doesn't have to mean that we'll never see each other," Adam pointed out.  "We'll probably have some classes together, and as long as it's before curfew, we can arrange places and times to meet." 

"I suppose," Jennifer said.  "Still, it definitely won't –"

Hagrid's booming voice interrupted her.  "Everyone in?  Right then – FORWARD!"

And the little fleet of boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass.  Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead.  It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face.  They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.  Then they climbed up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

**A/N:  All reviews will be greatly appreciated.**


	4. Chapter Three: The Sorting Hat

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. In addition, I have copied several passages from Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone verbatim. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

  
  
  
  
**_Chapter Three – The Sorting Hat_**

The door swung open at once.  In the entryway was a severe-looking man with black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.  His eyes swept the crowd of students, and when he met Tom's gaze, he stiffened visibly.

 "The firs' years, Professor Snape," said Hagrid.

"Thank you," Professor Snape said curtly.  "I will take them from here."  He pushed the door open wide, and the throng of students surged ahead to follow him into the castle.  Tom trailed behind, trying to decide if Professor Snape seemed better or worse than he'd imagined him.  He certainly _looked unpleasant, and he clearly disliked Tom already.  Though – Tom frowned – __how had Professor Snape recognized him?  Of all his siblings, Tom looked the least like his parents._

"Wow!" Adam whispered as they entered the castle.

  The entrance hall was certainly impressive.  The stone walls were lit with flaming torches, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

Professor Snape led them across the flagged stone floor.  Tom could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right – the rest of the school must already be here – but Professor Snape showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall.  They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly," Professor Snape said, his cold eyes surveying the room.  "Before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses.  I presume that you are all aware of the significance of the Sorting Ceremony, so I am sure I need not tell you that you are all expected to remain perfectly silent throughout.   For those of you arriving with preconceived notions about any of the four houses – Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff – I will remind you that each has produced outstanding witches and wizards.  You are all expected to be a credit to whichever house becomes yours; remember that your successes and refractions will result in house points earned or lost.   At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the honor of the house cup.  Students who damage their house's chances to receive the cup will find themselves shunned by their peers.  You have been warned.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school.  Many of you look inexcusably disheveled; I suggest you all make yourselves as presentable as possible while you are waiting."

His eyes lingered for a moment on a small boy whose robes were smudged, and Tom resisted the temptation to check his own robes.

"I shall return when we are ready for you.  I expect you all to remain silent."

Professor Snape left the chamber.  Tom let out the breath he'd been holding – he'd half expected Professor Snape to single him out about something – and looked around the room.  Most of the first years looked more apprehensive now than ever, and several groups of huddled students looked positively terrified.  

"What subject does _he_ teach?" Adam whispered to Tom.  "And why was he staring at you before?"

"He teaches Potions – and he's head of Slytherin House," Tom whispered back.  "He hated my father, and my grandfather – I suppose it's just the tradition, by now."

"You'd better hope you don't get sorted into Slytherin, then."

"Yeah, I know."  Tom was determined not to think about this, but despite himself, his apprehension grew as he waited.  What if he really _was sorted into Slytherin?_

Professor Snape returned at last, appearing so suddenly and silently that Tom would have been certain that he had Apparated if he had not known that this was impossible.

"Form a line and follow me," Professor Snape said brusquely, and the first-years scrambled to obey.  Tom got into line behind Adam and Jennifer, his stomach feeling even queasier than it did when riding a broomstick.  Professor Snape led them out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Even as anxious as Tom was, he could not help but be impressed by the Great Hall; he had never imagined such a strange and splendid place.  It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting.  These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets.  At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting.  Professor Snape led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them.  Dotted here and there among the staring faces of the students were the ghosts, shining misty silver.

Professor Snape silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years.  On top of the stool he put a pointed wizard's hat.  The hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty, and Tom, who had been expecting something much grander, was disappointed.

For a few seconds there was complete silence.  Then the hat twitched.  A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth – and the hat began to sing:

    For years untold I've sorted  

    First-year students into houses,  

    A tradition started long ago  
By independent Founders.  
Intelligence and thought  
Were valued by Rowena;  
Loyalty and Diligence  
Were prized by gentle Helga.  
The chosen ones of Gryffindor  
Had courage and great valor;  
Slytherin's favored students  
Were ambitious, quick, and clever.  
The houses still remain,  
The students still are sorted,  
But the vision of the founders  
Has for many years been thwarted.  
Together the four houses  
Were meant to be one whole,  
The noble school of Hogwarts  
United towards one goal.  
Instead the castle halls  
Are now sullied by discord,  
And despite my many warnings,  
Still this message is ignored.  
Again I give my counsel,  
Listen closely to my song:  
Though condemned I am to split you,   
Still I worry that it's wrong.  
Though I must fulfill my duty  
And must quarter every year,  
Still I wonder whether sorting   
May not bring the end I fear.  
The Dark Lord has been vanquished,  
But his legacy lives on;  
The once noble house of Slytherin  
With suspicion looked upon.  
No society can last  
Without cleverness, ambition  
Yet when warped, these same traits  
Herald mass devastation.  
I've listened and I've pondered  
As the damages accrue,  
And at last I have decided   
That a change is overdue.  
The students' own desires  
Will no longer be considered;  
Each student will be judged  
And to their rightful house delivered.  
Purity of blood  
Will also cease to matter;  
Family traditions will  
Entirely be shattered.  
Yet my efforts will mean nothing  
If the students don't assist  
Hogwarts must be rid  
Of the fighting in her midst  
We must unite inside her  
Or we'll crumble from within;  
I have told you, I have warned you  
Let the sorting now begin.
  


For several moments there was absolute silence, and then the Great Hall erupted in shocked conversation.  Tom caught snatches of protests from the older students:

"Purity of blood won't matter?  Does that mean there'll be Muggle-borns in _Slytherin_?"

"Family traditions will be shattered?  If my sister doesn't get sorted into Ravenclaw, Mum will be furious!"

"Noble house of Slytherin?  Yeah, right!"

With a glowering Professor Snape hovering just beside them, none of the first years dared talk, but they looked at each other in apprehension.  Tom was particularly anxious; would this change mean that he'd be sorted into Slytherin? 

Tom turned his head to look at the Professors.  Many looked just as agitated as the students, whispering among themselves and gesturing forcefully.  Professor McGonagall, sitting in her high-backed golden chair at the center of the table, seemed unperturbed, but she surveyed the room with disapproval – presumably because of the chaos – and after several moments, she stood up from her chair.  "Silence!" she called, rapping her goblet with a spoon.

Slowly the noise died away.

"The Sorting Hat has been Sorting students for millennia," Professor McGonagall said sharply.  "In all those years, it has been the highest authority in all matters pertaining to the Sorting.  None of you–" the Headmistress surveyed the room sternly –  "are qualified to protest one of its decisions.  If you wish to discuss the matter with your fellow students, you must refrain from doing so until after the Sorting is concluded.  Professor Snape, if we may continue with the Sorting?"

Professor McGonagall sat down, and Professor Snape stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," he said, fixing the first-years with his piercing gaze.  "Once your house has been decided upon, you will immediately join the appropriate table.  Ashfield, Sophia!"

A tall, dark-haired girl walked quickly out of the line, looking pale.  She put on the hat and sat down.  A moment's pause –

"SLYTHERIN!" shouted the hat.

The second table from the right clapped as Sophia walked towards them, and the black-haired boy in front of Tom in the line whispered,

"Well, _she's not a Muggle-born, at least."_

"Anderson, Erik!"

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat.

The table second from left applauded this time; Tom caught a glimpse of Adrian clapping enthusiastically together with the other Ravenclaws.

"Bidwell, Edward!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Edward went to sit down with them.

"Blackwood, Jill" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers.  The queasiness in Tom's stomach grew worse.  Would he be joining the Gryffindors as well, or would he be forced into Slytherin?  He wasn't a coward or anything, but he knew that he really _was_ ambitious.  It wasn't that he liked telling people what to do, but he hated it when other people told _him what to do.  Well, not everyone; he didn't mind when it was his father or mother, at least not usually.  But some people just made no __sense; why should he have to listen to them?  Dad was always telling him that sometimes you _had_ to listen to people even if you disagreed with them, but being Head of __something would mean that at least he'd get to do __some things his own way.  Did that mean he'd be put in Slytherin?   _

There was no use worrying about it; there was nothing he could do now.  Tom turned his attention back to the Sorting.

"Hammond, Sarah!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Kincaid, Shannon!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Tom noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide.  "LeNoir, Ryan," the boy who had been in front of Tom, sat on the stool for almost a full minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

A LeNoir in _Gryffindor?  Tom wasn't the only one shocked by this; a startled murmur swept the room and there was only a smattering of clapping from the Gryffindor table.  Ryan swept the hat from off his head, looking deeply affronted at the Sorting Hat's decision, and walked with his head held high towards the Gryffindor table._

"What's wrong?" Adam asked Tom in a whisper.

"His family's been in Slytherin for generations," Tom whispered back.  "He's a real pure-blood, a branch of the Black family that's originally from France.  I suppose the Sorting Hat meant what it said, that it won't be listening to what we want…."  Tom trailed off, starting to feel definitely sick now.  If a LeNoir could be put in Gryffindor, then he could definitely be put in Slytherin.  What would Mum say?  And Fred and George – and what about Uncle Ron?  He _hated Slytherins.  Would Uncle Ron treat him differently if he were Sorted into Slytherin?_

The line was half as short now as it had been at the start.

 "Leroy" …, "Meadows" …, "Mitchell"…, "Nott" …, "Osborn" …, "Phelps" …, and then at last – 

 "Potter, Tom!"

As Tom stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out all over the hall.

"_Potter, did he say?"_

"Harry Potter's son?"

The last thing Tom saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him.  The next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat.  He waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear.  "Difficult.  Very difficult.  You have quite a bit of talent, oh yes, and you certainly are not lacking in courage or intelligence…."  The voice suddenly became much sharper.  "Just a moment.  Haven't I sorted you before?"

Tom was taken aback.  "Er… no," he said silently.

"Are you certain?"

"Of course!  This is the first time I've ever been to Hogwarts; I've never even seen you before!"  Tom was utterly mystified; why did the Hat think that he'd already been Sorted?

"You are clearly telling the truth," the Hat said after a moment.  "And yet your mind feels extraordinarily familiar….  On the other hand, your personality is unique; perhaps I am mistaken.  Very well, then.  Intelligence, courage, extraordinary talent, but above all else, ambition.  And you are a Parseltongue as well, oh my."

Tom's apprehension was becoming panic.  "_Not Slytherin, not Slytherin!" he whispered.  "I'll be miserable there, oh please, I don't belong there, I know I'm ambitious, but I'm not – I'm not __ruthless or anything!"_

"What has Slytherin done to earn it such prejudice?" the voice said, sounding aggrieved.  "I can see very well that you aren't ruthless, but that is _not_ an intrinsic part of the Slytherin character, it is merely an all-too frequent addition.  And didn't you hear my song?  I stated very clearly that the students' own desires would no longer be considered.  No, you're a perfect fit, and just the person to help reform Slytherin from the inside.  In fact, why not make that one of your ambitions?  Yes, you'll do well indeed in SLYTHERIN!"

Even though Tom had been dreading this, the words still hit him with the strength of their irrevocability.  He desperately forced his face to remain expressionless – he wouldn't give the Slytherins the satisfaction of knowing how upset he was – and lifted the hat from his head.  

He was greeted by a sea of stunned faces, and audible whispers were breaking out all over the Great Hall.

"The son of Harry Potter in _Slytherin_?"

"Poor kid.  Do you think he'll last?"

"What in Merlin's name was the Sorting Hat thinking?"

Tom turned to look at the Professors, but they looked just as shocked as everyone else.  In fact, Professor McGonagall looked positively alarmed, and Professor Snape looked… frightened?  The expression was a fleeting one, lasting only seconds, and Tom decided he must have made a mistake; now Professor Snape just looked furious.

Trying not to think about what it would be like to have a head of house who hated him, Tom walked toward the Slytherin table.  He tried – with little success - to ignore the stares directed his way; the pitying glances from the Hufflepuffs were bad enough, but outright hostility from most of the Slytherins was even worse.  Tom sat down at near end of the Slytherin table, not far from the other first-years, and forced himself to concentrate on the Sorting.

The next two first-years on line, "Romano, Julian" and "Rosier, Janet" became Slytherins as well, and Tom clapped halfheartedly along with his new house-mates.  Julian Romano sat down beside Tom and even said a polite "hello," but Janet Rosier shot him such a look of pure hatred that Tom was sure she was related to the Rosier who'd knocked Adam down on the train.   Still, he tried to reassure himself, she was a girl; at least they wouldn't be sharing a dormitory.

"Stewert, Alex" became a Ravenclaw, and then it was Adam's turn.  He walked up to the stool and put the hat on his head, and almost immediately, the hat shouted "HUFFLEPUFF!"

But – hadn't Jennifer been sure that Adam would end up in Gryffindor?  Tom watched as Adam joined the Hufflepuff table and sat down; would the two of them ever speak to each other again?  But then Adam looked up and caught Tom's eye, and he grinned and waved.  "See you tomorrow!" he mouthed, and Tom smiled back, some of his gloom lifting.

"Sutherland, Jennifer!"

Adam's sister walked confidently up to the hat and put it on her head.  Again, the decision was almost immediate.  "SLYTHERIN!" the hat shouted.

Slytherin?!  Tom sat up in his seat, shocked. .Jennifer would have it even worse than he would; she was a Muggle-born!  Jennifer herself obviously didn't realize what a disaster this was; she walked towards the Slytherin table, sat down in the seat across from Tom, and smiled at him.  

"So much for Ravenclaw," she said cheerfully.  "I still can't believe that Adam's in Hufflepuff, though – but I suppose he really is loyal and hard-working and all that."

Tom was too worried to smile in return.  As soon as he found a chance to talk to Jennifer where no one would be able to overhear them, he'd have to warn her not to let the Slytherins find out that she was a Muggle-born.  But there was no way he could warn her during the feast; what if she gave it away when she introduced herself to the girls sitting near her?

The last few students were sorted:  "Taylor" …, "Travers" …, "Viridian" …, "Whitaker" …, and then at last, "Wu."

Professor Snape rolled up his scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Tom looked down at his empty gold plate.  He had only just realized how hungry he was.  Chocolate Frogs and Pumpkin Pasties were delicious, but they weren't very filling, and besides, that had been ages ago.

Professor McGonagall had gotten to her feet, smiling at the students.

"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts," she said, "and a special welcome to all our first-years.  You must all be hungry, so I will save my announcements for after the feast.  Enjoy!"

She sat back down, and the platters were suddenly heaped with an overwhelming array of meats and trimmings.  The students cheered and dug into their food, their animated chatter set against the clinking of plates and silverware and the scraping of chairs.

At first Tom ignored the conversations around him, concentrating on his food, but then he heard Jennifer starting up a conversation with the Rosier girl, and he looked up in apprehension.

 "Your name is Janet, right?" Jennifer said, smiling.

"Yes," Janet said, not smiling in return.  "And you're Jennifer Sutherland.  What kind of name is Sutherland?  Your father wasn't a Muggle-born, was he?" 

Tom stabbed his fork into his steak; it was too late to salvage the situation now, the damage was already done.  It figured that it would be the Rosier girl who would ruin everything.

Jennifer merely looked taken aback at the girl's question.  "What's it to you?" she said.  "If you must know, my father's a Muggle himself – neither of my parents are wizards."

Janet looked aghast.  "You're a Muggle-born?" she said.  "I'm expected to share a dormitory with a _Mudblood_?"  Her voice was rising, and heads all down the table were turning to watch.

"Watch your language!" Tom said.  Janet shot him a glare, stood up, and swept off to a seat farther down the table.

"What was _that all about?" Janet asked, looking around in bewilderment at the hostile looks she was getting from students all down the table._

"I would've warned you, but I didn't have a chance," Tom said apologetically. "Some wizards think that Muggle-borns shouldn't be allowed at Hogwarts or treated like regular wizards.  The founder of Slytherin house believed this as well, so Muggle-borns have never been Sorted into Slytherin.  You – and any other Muggle-borns who've been Sorted into Slytherin this year, if there _are_ any others – are the first Muggle-born Slytherins since Hogwarts was founded."

Janet looked alarmed.  "_All Slytherins hate Muggle-borns?"  _

"Well, definitely not all of them.  For one thing, not all Slytherins are pureblood, and it's mostly purebloods who hate Muggle-borns.  Of course, not _all pure-bloods are like that; my mother's a pure-blood, and one of her best friends is my Aunt Hermione, who's a Muggle-born herself."_

Jennifer didn't look much reassured by this; she turned back to her plate of food and was silent.

When they had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before.  A moment later the desserts appeared.  Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding….

As Tom helped himself to some of the steaming apple pie, the talk turned to famous Quidditch players.  Tom tried to keep his face expressionless, but it was hard not to laugh; at home, between his father, mother, and Jamie, discussion of these same players more often involved critique than awe.    

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor McGonagall got to her feet again.  The hall fell silent.

"Before we head upstairs, I have a few start-of-term announcements to make," she said, her gaze sweeping the room.  "First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils.  Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to remind you that no magic should be used in the corridors and that the full list of banned objects comprises four hundred and seventy three items; it can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."  Her stern expression gave way to a brief flicker of a smile.

"Finally, Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term.  Anyone in second year or above who is interested in playing for their house team should contact Madam Hooch.

"On a more serious note, I realize that many of you are confused and even upset about this year's Sorting.  Again, I expect you all to accept the decision of the Sorting Hat as final, and I expect each House to welcome _all_ its newest members warmly.  Now all of you, off to bed!  You will all want to be awake for your first day of classes."

"First years, follow me!"  A tall boy stood up from his seat at the Slytherin table, his silver Prefect's badge glinting, and strode off towards the double doors that led back to the entrance hall.  The Slytherin first years stood up and followed him through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and down a steep flight of stone steps into darkness.

"This leads to the dungeons," the Prefect explained.  "The corridors down in the dungeons are complicated and can get confusing, so pay attention to where we're going."

The group of first-years kept close together as they followed their guide through the dimly lit, echoing passageways.  The labyrinthine corridors sloped ever-downwards, the chill of the underground stone growing more pervasive as they walked deeper and deeper under the school. 

The prefect paused at last by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall.

"Runespoor," he said, and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open.  Inside was the Slytherin common room, a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish laps were hanging on chains.  A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and several high-backed chairs were scattered in front of it.

The prefect directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another.  At the end of a long stone passageway they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with dark green, velvet curtains that were interwoven with silver threads.  Their trunks had already been brought up.  They all pulled on their pajamas in silence and fell into bed.

Despite his exhaustion, Tom lay awake in bed for quite awhile, listening to the slow breathing of the others as they fell asleep one by one.  What would it be like, being in Slytherin?  Would any of his roommates be friendly?  And what about Jennifer?  Was Janet giving her a hard time already?  Would she be bullied?

Tom wished he could talk to Medusa – he hadn't spoken to her since the train ride – but he knew that she was asleep, and anyway, speaking Parseltongue would definitely wake everyone up.  It was a good thing that none of his room-mates had cats… but he'd have to tell his room-mates about Medusa tomorrow anyway, warn them not to bother her.

Tom rolled over and eventually fell asleep.

  
  
  
**A/N:** My thanks to ping*pong5, wjund, zol, and tia - your reviews were very encouraging! 


	5. Chapter Four: Mudbloods and Mysteries

**DISCLAIMER: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.****

**Author's Notes:**  Apologies for the delay; I've been more busy than usual lately, and I've spent quite a bit of time over the last couple of weeks setting up a forum for writers who are interested in writing original fiction. (The forum is called Quills to Computers, and its URL is http://writers.forumer.com; if any of you are interested in writing original fiction, you're welcome to visit.)  Also, this chapter is only the first half of the much longer chapter that I originally intended to submit; as I was reading through it one last time, I realized that it was way too long and needed to be cut in half. So don't worry; there's another chapter already written, and I'll upload it as soon as I get it beta-read, which should be within a week or two.  Many thanks to all those who have reviewed so far; your comments are very encouraging!  I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please review!

**_Chapter Four – Mudbloods and Mysteries_**

"AAAAAAARGH!"

Tom sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding, and threw back his curtains.  One of his roommates – Kenneth Viridian – was standing at the far end of the room, his face white.  Across the room, Daniel and Julian threw back their curtains as well, their eyes wide in alarm.  

"What's wrong?" Tom asked urgently, untangling himself from his blankets and swinging his feet down onto the cold stone floor.

Kenneth was shaking.  "A – a – s-snake!" he said, pointing towards Tom's trunk, his voice unnaturally high.  "Right there!"

Relief swept over Tom; he collapsed back down onto the edge of his bed, his heart still racing.  "That's just Medusa," he said apologetically.  "I've had her for three years – she isn't dangerous at all.  There's no reason to be scared of her."

Color rushed back to Kenneth's face.   "I didn't expect to suddenly find a _snake_ in the dormitory!" he snapped.  "For all _I_ knew, it was poisonous!"

Julian had gotten out of bed and had padded across the room in his slippers to get a better look at Medusa.  "Actually, it _is_ poisonous," he told Kenneth.  "It's an adder."

Kenneth blanched, but he recovered in seconds and whirled around to face Tom.  "What's it doing here, then?" he demanded.  "Snakes aren't allowed at Hogwarts!"

 "My father wrote to Professor McGonagall, and she gave me permission," Tom said defensively.  

 "Of course – I should have known," Kenneth said scathingly.  "The son of the _famous_ Harry Potter can get permission to do whatever he likes."

"What difference does it make to you?" Tom said, growing angry himself.  "She isn't dangerous!  She won't _bite_ you, you know!"

"Oh, and I suppose she promised you that herself?"  Kenneth said scornfully.

Despite himself, Tom grinned.  "As a matter of fact, she did."

Kenneth stared at him.  "You're not just arrogant," he said, "you're a lunatic as well!  Since when do snakes talk?"

Tom raised his eyebrows.  "Don't you know why the mascot of Slytherin house is a snake?"

 "You're a _Parselmouth_?"  Julian said incredulously  

"Yes, I am."

Kenneth looked stunned.  "But – you – you're not –  "  he stammered.

"I'm not _what_?" Tom said, losing patience.  "Evil?  My father is a Parselmouth as well, you know; there's no need to be so shocked."

"_Harry Potter_ is a Parselmouth?" Julian said, looking even more shocked.

"Yes," Tom said curtly, getting out of bed.   "And no, before you ask, we're not descended from Salazar Slytherin.  Voldemort was his last descendent, and he's dead."  He turned towards Medusa's traveling case and switched over to Parseltongue.  "Medusa?  Are you awake?"

"After all that sscreaming, how could I not be?" Medusa said grumpily, gliding out of her case and down onto Tom's trunk.  "What wass that boy doing, poking around in your thingss?"

"Hey – you're right!"  Tom spun around to face Kenneth.  "I left Medusa's case closed – why'd you open it?"

Kenneth flushed.  "I – I didn't realize it was yours." 

"It was on top of my trunk!  Whose exactly did you think it was?"

"I was tired!  I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing, okay?  And don't you think you should have warned us that you're keeping a poisonous snake as a pet?"

"I was planning to tell you today, but you went poking around in my things before I had a chance.  Don't blame _me_!"

The two boys glared at each other, the silence stretching taut, until a hesitant voice from the other end of the room interrupted.

 "Uh – guys?  What exactly _is_ a Parselmouth?" 

Tom turned around, startled.  It was Daniel, standing just beside his bed and looking utterly confused; he must have been watching the whole incident.  But why didn't he know what a Parselmouth was?  Was he a Muggle-born?

Tom hurried to explain.  "A Parselmouth is someone who can speak the language of snakes.  It's a very rare ability; I'm pretty sure that my father and I are the only two Parselmouths alive nowadays."

"That hissing was – uh – Parseltongue?"  Daniel looked fascinated.  "Cool!"

Kenneth was looking at Daniel with narrowed eyes.  "Why didn't you know that?"

Tom's hands slowly tightened into fists as he waited in apprehension for Daniel's answer.

"Well, there's a lot I still don't know about wizards," Daniel said, shrugging.  "I only got my Hogwarts letter about a month ago."

Kenneth looked furious.  "You're a _Muggle_-born?" he said accusingly.

"Yes.  So?"  Daniel looked wary now.

"So?"  Kenneth glared at Daniel.  "Muggle-borns don't belong in Slytherin!  My father will be horrified when I tell him that you're in my dormitory.  I'm warning you now, Mudblood – if you dare touch any of my things, you'll regret it.  Better yet, just stay of my sight altogether!"

"Oh?" Daniel said, glaring back.  "I could say the same to you.  In case you haven't noticed, I'm quite a bit taller than you are, and I've been taking ka –  I mean, fighting lessons, since I was four.  Don't start up with me; chances are you'll end up in the Hospital Wing."

 "I'm terrified," Kenneth said, mockingly.  "I have my wand, don't I?  And unlike you, I know how to use it.  Just like a Mudblood – forgetting all about magic."   But perhaps Daniel's threat had unsettled him, because with one last scowl, he strode back towards his bed and trunk.

"Well, that's gotten rid of _him_, at least," Daniel said, glowering at his back.  He turned to Tom.  "Are there many others like that around?"

"Well…"  Tom glanced over quickly at Julian, who was staring at Daniel in obvious dismay.  "Slytherins tend to dislike Muggle-borns.  Not me, of course, and not _all_ Slytherins, but most of them.  Not many of them will actually bother you – or at least, I hope not."  He hesitated.  "Julian?  What about you?"

Julian averted his eyes, suddenly engrossed in examining the silver cuffs of his silk pajamas.  "My family is Pureblood," he said stiffly.  "We… we don't associate with Muggle-borns.  Please tell Daniel that I – I have nothing against him personally, but I…."  He trailed off, and still avoiding Tom's eyes, he hurriedly returned to his own bed and trunk.

 "Pureblood?" Daniel said, looking taken aback.  He gave Tom a lopsided smile.  "What is that, some kind of royalty?"

"You'd be surprised," Tom said darkly.  "Some wizards seem to think so.  Pureblood just means that you don't have any Muggle ancestors, but Pureblood families have been around for centuries and centuries and are usually wealthy and powerful, and they often look down on _anyone_ who isn't Pureblood."

"What do Purebloods have against Muggles?" Daniel asked, frowning.

"They consider them inferior," Tom said, shrugging.  "Because they can't do magic.   But not _all_ Purebloods are prejudiced against Muggle-borns; my mother's family is Pureblood, and they're not like that at all.  My uncle – my mother's brother – even married a Muggle-born." 

"Why did he say that I don't belong in _Slytherin_, though?  Are Slytherins mostly purebloods?"

"The founder of Slytherin house - Salazar Slytherin – didn't want to let Muggle-borns into Hogwarts, and usually chose the Purebloods to be in his own House.  For hundreds of years, the Sorting Hat's been doing almost the same thing: Slytherin would get most of the Purebloods and none of the Muggle-borns.    It was just this year that the Sorting Hat decided to change things.  You heard the song, right?  But most of the Purebloods still ended up here in Slytherin, because they tend to be ambitious."  Tom offered Daniel a half-hearted smile.  "Most of Hogwarts isn't like that; if you were sorted into any of the other Houses, chances are that none of your roommates would've cared one way or the other that you're a Muggle-born."

"So that's it, then?  Kenneth, Julian, and the two of us?"  Daniel looked around glumly.  "And we're going to be together for seven years?"

"Well... Julian won't bother you, at least," Tom offered.  "And we have classes with the other Houses.  But just a minute...."  Tom frowned and looked around.  "Weren't there five boys here last night?  Wasn't there another kid named Brian?"

Together, they turned around to look at the fifth bed, whose hangings were still tightly closed.  

"I don't believe it," Daniel said, grinning.  "He must still be asleep!  He slept straight through Kenneth's screaming, and he still hasn't woken up!"

"Should _we_ wake him up?" Tom said doubtfully.  "It's getting kind of late...."

"Nah," Daniel said, shrugging.  "Don't bother.  Some people like to sleep late, and don't mind rushing to get ready.  If he's still asleep when we're ready to leave, we'll wake him up then."

"Okay," Tom agreed.  "We should probably hurry ourselves, though, if want to have enough time to eat breakfast."

"Wouldn't want to miss that," Daniel said, smiling.  "The food here is definitely a plus."  He crossed the room to his bed, avoiding Kenneth and Julian, and opened his trunk.

Kenneth looked up as Daniel walked past, and his mouth curled up into a sneer.  He turned to Julian and muttered something, his eyes glinting; Julian hesitated for a moment, and then nodded.

Tom watched in alarm; what was Kenneth planning?  He'd have to keep an eye out for Daniel, and hope that Daniel really would be able to protect himself….  Tom sighed and knelt by his own trunk to begin sorting through whatever he hadn't had a chance to unpack the night before.  

When Medusa slithered out from underneath a folded pile of jumpers, Tom nearly fell over backwards in surprise.

"What are you doing in there?" 

"Sssleeping, of coursse."  Medusa raised her head and flicked her tongue in and out as she surveyed the room.  "You were too busy arguing to desscribe to me what wass happening, sso I returned to my nap.  Why did the boy sscream?  What were you arguing about?"

"He was frightened of you," Tom explained.  "I told him I was a Parselmouth and that I had permission to bring you here, but he still isn't happy about it."  Tom made a face.  "He probably wouldn't have liked me anyway, though; I got Sorted into Slytherin, and Kenneth's a Pureblood."

"Sslytherin?" Medusa hissed in surprise.

"Yes," Tom said glumly.  "The Sorting Hat made some changes this year.  It even Sorted some _Muggle-borns_ into Slytherin.  One of my roommates is a Muggle-born, actually, and two are Purebloods; you can imagine _that_ didn't go over too well."

"Sso it iss as bad as you feared, then?"

"Well… not exactly," Tom admitted.  "Daniel – that's the Muggle-born – seems nice, and do you remember that boy I met on the train?  Adam?  His sister was also sorted into Slytherin."

"And there are classsess to look forward to as well," Medusa reminded him.  "You will sstill enjoy yoursself here, even if you are in Sslytherin."

"I suppose you're right," Tom admitted.  "I've been looking forward to learning magic properly for ages and ages."

"Well, go on, then!" Medusa said, coiling herself back up amongst the piles of clothing.  "It isss getting late, and you can finish unpacking later.  Get dresssed and ssort out your school ssupliess."

"Yes, Ma'am," Tom said, grinning, and with a quick glance at his watch to confirm that Medusa was right (as usual!) he hurried to get dressed.

By the time Tom had finished and had gathered his books, quills, and parchment together, Kenneth and Julian had already left the room.  Daniel was dressed, but he was sitting in the middle of the floor sorting through his supplies.

"Do you want me to wait for you?" Tom offered.

"Nah, this'll take a while," Daniel said, gesturing ruefully to the mess spread out in front of him.  "I think I'll go wake up Brian now, and I'll finish this up while he gets dressed.  You go on."

"If you're sure…" Tom said, disappointed.  He wasn't looking forward to facing the Slytherin table alone, but he looked as though he didn't have a choice.  Tom hissed a quick goodbye at Medusa, who wished him luck again, and he headed out into the Slytherin common room and then out into the dungeon passageways.  A cluster of older boys were just ahead of him, and by following behind them at a discreet distance, Tom managed to find his way to the Great Hall without getting lost once.

Tom approached the Slytherin table hesitantly, trying to decide where to sit.  As he scanned the table, he noticed someone sitting alone, quite a ways down from the rest of the students.  Tom squinted, trying to make out who it was.  Was it… Jennifer?

 Tom had never expected to feel so relieved to see someone who was practically a stranger.  He hurried over to where she was sitting and slid into the seat across from her.

"Hi, Tom!" Jennifer said, smiling.

"Hi," he said, smiling in return as he poured himself a drink.  "What do you think of Hogwarts?"

"Amazing – well, except for my roommates."  Jennifer made a face.  "My dorm itself is great, though – and all of Hogwarts, really.  Much nicer than Muggle boarding schools!" 

"You used to go to a Muggle boarding school?" Tom asked, surprised.  

"No," Jennifer said, shaking her head.  "My mother wasn't too happy about sending us to boarding school even now; there's no way she would have sent us when we were in primary school!  It's just that we had to tell our friends that we were going to boarding school, to explain where we'd be disappearing to every year, and the mother of one my friends went to boarding school when she was younger, so she loaded me down with advice and information."  Jennifer pulled a platter of fried eggs towards her plate and helped herself.  "Want some?" she asked.

"Yes, thanks," Tom said, and Jennifer passed him the platter.

They ate in silence for several minutes, and then Jennifer suddenly put down her fork.  "I've been meaning to ask you – what do kids from wizarding families do before Hogwarts?  They don't go to Muggle schools, do they?  Are there primary schools for wizards?"

"Usually we're just taught at home," Tom explained.  "Wealthier families sometimes hire tutors, but usually it's just your Mum and Dad.  We don't do much – just reading and writing and arithmetic and a bit of geography, and in some Pureblood families, music and maybe even art.  My Dad grew up in a Muggle family, and he's told me what it's like for Muggles, how you're all together from the time you're really young and how you learn all sorts of things, but it isn't like that with us.  Until we start at Hogwarts, we don't really know many other kids our own age.  I didn't know anyone my own age at all, because my Mum and Dad had me when they were still very young, so their friends' children are all younger than I am."

"Weren't you lonely?" Jennifer asked, surprised.

"Not really," Tom said, shrugging.  "I have a brother who's only two years younger than me, and then I have two sisters and a baby brother.  I have a bunch of cousins as well; Adrian's only two years older than me – he's in Ravenclaw – and I have another cousin who's just a year younger than me, a girl.  Besides, my Mum has always said that all I need is a stack of books and I'll be perfectly happy."

 Jennifer laughed.  "I love books as well, but I've always spent most of my time with friends."  She suddenly sobered.  "I hope it won't be too difficult to find friends from other houses."

"_All_ your roommates gave you a hard time?" Tom said sympathetically.

"Well, no," Jennifer admitted.  "Janet was the only one who was really nasty.  But one of the other girls, Valerie Nott, is a pureblood as well, and she mostly just ignored me.  That just leaves Sophia Ashfield, and she does seem nice, but she was kind of quiet.  Maybe she didn't want to antagonize Janet by talking to me, or maybe she was just shy – but either way, even if we do eventually become friends, I don't think we'd have much in common."

Dozens of owls suddenly streamed into the Great Hall through the open windows, swooping down and circling the tables to deliver mail to their owners.  The noise level in the Great Hall immediately rose several notches as the students exclaimed in delight as they received their packages and letters.

"Wow," Jennifer said, craning her head upwards with an awed expression on her face as she watched the owls soaring overhead.

"Do you have an owl?" Tom asked.

"No – I wish," Jennifer said.  "I wanted one, but my Mum said that a cat was enough.  Do you have an owl?"

"No.  My father was going to buy me one, but I convinced him to let me take Medusa instead."

"A cat?"

Tom laughed.  "I can just imagine what Medusa would say if she knew that someone mistook her for a cat!  No, Medusa is a snake."

"Really?  A snake?"  Jennifer looked impressed.  "I didn't even know that snakes were allowed at Hogwarts."

"They aren't," Tom began to explain, but suddenly an envelope floated down in front of him, and seconds later a warm weight settled heavily on his left shoulder, nearly knocking him forward into his plate of food.

"Hedwig!" Tom said in delight, reaching over with his right hand to stroke his father's snowy white owl.

"She's beautiful," Jennifer said, looking impressed.  "Whose is she, if not yours?"

"My father's," Tom explained.  "He uses Hedwig to send letters.  Though it's strange that Mum and Dad sent me a letter already; I've just gotten here!  I hope nothing's happened…."  Suddenly worried, Tom picked up the letter from where it had landed among the crumbly remains of a roll and brushed it off.

"There's another letter tied to the owl's foot," Jennifer pointed out.

Tom twisted his head to look.  To his surprise, Hedwig was indeed carrying a second letter.  How strange; what was the point of sending him two separate letters?  Tom frowned and reached for the letter, but before he had a chance to grab it, Hedwig nipped him and flew off.

"Hey!" Tom said indignantly.  "Come back here!"

But Hedwig did not return.  With growing bewilderment, Tom watched as Hedwig flew directly towards the staff table.  

"Where's she going?" he said, baffled.

"Maybe the letter is for someone else," Jennifer suggested.

"One of the Professors?  Why on earth would my Mum or Dad be writing to one of the Professors?!"

But Jennifer was right.  Hedwig landed in front of Professor McGonagall, who untied the letter immediately and began to read it with furrowed brows.  When she finished, she rolled it up again and whispered something to Snape, who was sitting beside her.  Snape nodded, looking grim, and then stood up to follow McGonagall out of the Great Hall.   

Suddenly apprehensive, Tom ripped open his own letter.

_Dear Tom,_

_How are you enjoying your first day at Hogwarts?  Mum and I and all the kids miss you already.  (Derrick had quite a temper tantrum last night when he realized that you were gone!)_

_You're probably wondering why I'm writing to you already.  Well… Professor McGonagall owled me last night to let me know that you were Sorted into Slytherin, and to be honest, I'm worried about you, Tom.  I know it won't be easy, being in Slytherin – your roommates haven't been giving you a hard time, have they? – and I suppose I just wanted to try to cheer you up.   Remember what I said that day in Diagon Alley?  Not all Slytherins are a bad lot, no matter what Uncle Ron says, and I'm sure you'll be able to find good friends.  Don't worry about Uncle Ron or Grandma being upset; I've explained to that it wasn't your fault, and that the Sorting Hat did things differently this year.  The truth is that I do agree with the Sorting Hat in principal – that part of the reason why Slytherin is so infamous for corruption is due to the fact that most of the good kids are so set against it.  There's nothing wrong with ambition itself, just as long as you always remember that doing the right thing is more important than achieving your goals.  Of course, I wish the Sorting Hat hadn't made the change this year!_

_Try to be careful about who you become friends with.  I trust you – you know I do – but many Slytherin families are extensively involved in the Dark Arts, and you'll have to be extra careful to stay away from those sorts of boys.  If any of them give you a hard time, go straight to Professor McGonagall.  I wish I could advise you to stay away from Snape as well, but unfortunately, he's your Head of House.  Try not to antagonize him, Tom; he can make your life very difficult.  You do have one thing going for you, though – he won't be so eager to take points away from you, as he'd be taking off points from his own House!  Just keep in mind that he's on our side; you know he helped me defeat Voldemort… and if you have any real problems, go to Professor McGonagall.  She is the Headmistress, after all, so she can overturn any of Snape's decisions – but she won't be willing to do that except under extenuating circumstances._

_I meant to write this letter to reassure you, and instead I've probably gone and made you even more nervous.  Don't be, Tom; if you have the right attitude, most things will work themselves out.  If you ever really need to talk to me or Mum, send us a letter, and we'll arrange for a time to talk to you through your common room fireplace.  It isn't exactly allowed, but if we do it late at night, no one will notice – just make sure that Professor Snape doesn't find out!  Send Medusa my regards.  How did your roommates react to her?  Mum sends her love and strict instructions to write back!_

_Love you,_

_Dad_

Tom reread the letter, his apprehension fading but his bewilderment growing.  It was wonderful to get a letter from Dad, and it was a big relief to know that if he ever really needed to speak to Mum and Dad, there was a way to do it, but so much of the letter made no sense.  Why on earth had Professor McGonagall written to tell Dad that he'd been Sorted into Slytherin?  That definitely wasn't a normal thing for a Headmistress to do!   And what had Dad written to Professor McGonagall about?  It must have been in response to the letter she'd sent him to tell him that Tom had been Sorted into Slytherin, but what about it had made McGonagall and Snape look so grim?  Why was _Snape_ involved in any of this to begin with?  None of it made sense.

"Is something wrong?" Jennifer asked, startling Tom out of his thoughts.

"What?" he said.  "Oh – no, don't worry.  I'm sure it's nothing important, it's just…."  He trailed off.

"If you're sure…" Jennifer said doubtfully.

Tom nodded, only barely registering what she'd said; he was still trying to figure out what was going on.  Maybe, if he asked Dad about it when he wrote back tonight, Dad would explain?  It was possible, after all, that Dad's letter to McGonagall had nothing to do with Tom.  Somehow, though, Tom doubted it – and he was determined to solve the mystery.


	6. Chapter Five: The Potions Master

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. In addition, several passages from Harry Potter and the Sorceror's stone have been used verbatim. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

  
**Author notes:** Many thanks to my beta-reader, Elucreh, for her excellent editing and suggestions. Also, thanks to everyone who has reviewed, especially those who take the time to review each chapter and those who take the time to leave thoughtful reviews; they really do mean a lot to me, and encourage me to write more often. Thanks again!

**_Chapter Five – The Potions Master _**

Tom and Jennifer left the Great Hall to head to their first class of the day as soon as they had finished eating; Mum and Dad had both warned Tom that he was almost certain to get lost on the way to class the first few days, and Tom and Jennifer were both determined to be on time.

"I don't understand, though," Jennifer said, frowning.  "Why can't we just ask someone for directions?"

"Everything moves around," Tom explained.  "The staircases, the doors, and even the hallways."

"You're joking!" Jennifer said, staring around her.  "Wow.  How can _anyone_ find their way around, then?"

"I think there's a sort of pattern to the way things move around... and besides, most of the actual rooms don't move, so once you figure out where everything is, you can just head in the general direction."  Tom shrugged.  "I'm not completely sure; I've read _Hogwarts, a History_, but the section on the layout of Hogwarts didn't really focus on actually finding your way around - it mostly just talked about how it all works, and the different people who came up with the spells...."

"I really wanted to read that book," Jennifer said wistfully.  "I saw it in the bookstore when we went to get our school books.  But Mum refused to start buying us extra books; she said we'd have to look for them in the Hogwarts library.  Both copies are checked out, though; I suppose I'll just have to wait."

"My aunt sent me the latest edition when I got my Hogwarts letter.  If you want, you can borrow it."

"Thanks!" Jennifer said. 

Twice, Tom and Jennifer got completely lost, but both times there was a portrait nearby that was more than willing to help out.  Jennifer found the paintings fascinating.

"How can the people in the portraits just… move around like that?" she asked.  "Aren't they painted on?"

"You mean the portraits in the Muggle world don't move at all?" Tom said, astonished.  "Don't the people in them get bored?"

Jennifer laughed.  "Muggle portraits are just canvas and paint; they don't have personalities!"

Their first class of the day was History of Magic.  Fred and George had warned Tom about Professor Binns, but Tom had thought they were exaggerating; now he knew better.  Paying attention to Binns took a colossal effort, and it didn't help that the rest of the students - except Jennifer - spent most of the period whispering to each other and passing notes.  The boredom was relieved only once, when halfway through the class Daniel came running breathlessly in together with Brian, apologizing for being late and explaining that they'd gotten lost.  Brian, it turned out, was a sturdily-built, cheerful looking boy, and unlike Daniel, he didn't seem to be at all out of breath.  Professor Binns just wheezed at the two of them to sit down, and they did, right near Tom.  As soon as Binns had begun droning on again, Brian and Daniel began whispering to each other; Brian made several attempts to include Tom in the conversation, completely unfazed by the fact that Tom was ignoring him in an attempt to pay attention to what Professor Binns was saying.  By the time the class was over, Tom was highly frustrated. 

"It isn't fair!" Tom said indignantly to Jennifer as they headed to their next class.  "History is really interesting; why'd they have to ruin it by giving us Binns?" 

"It's almost worth it," Jennifer said, grinning, "being able to write home that I have a Professor who's a ghost.  Mum will _never_ believe me."

"It's not funny!" Tom said.  "The fact that he's a ghost just makes it worse; he's been teaching here for ages, and definitely isn't planning on leaving any time soon.  We'll be stuck with him for as long as we have to take History of Magic!"

"We only have the class twice a week, though," Jennifer pointed out.  "We'll manage - and I'm sure our other Professors will be fine."  

"I hope so….  What do we have next?" 

"Transfiguration with Hufflepuff," Jennifer said, quickening her pace so that Tom had to hurry to keep up.  "I hope I have time to talk to Adam before class begins.  We've always spent loads of time together, and I haven't seen him since the Sorting!"

When Tom and Jennifer arrived at the classroom, Adam was already there, talking animatedly to two other Hufflepuffs.  Adam noticed them immediately and hurried over, grinning broadly.  "Isn't this place brilliant?" he said.  "We had charms first – I can't believe I've actually made something fly!"

"Lucky you," Jennifer said, smiling in return.  "We haven't done any magic yet.  What's it like in Hufflepuff?"

"Hufflepuff is great – everyone is amazingly friendly," Adam said enthusiastically.  "The older students are really nice, too; they've been showing us all around, explaining everything, offering to help us if we need it….  What about you two?  What's it like in Slytherin?"

Tom and Jennifer exchanged glances.

"Exactly the opposite of Hufflepuff," Jennifer said wryly.

"Really?" Adam said anxiously.  "I've been hearing horror stories all day about Slytherins, but I wasn't sure if I should believe them….  Are the Slytherins really as bad as the Hufflepuffs claim?"

"Some of them are pretty bad," Jennifer admitted.

Adam looked horrified.

"Not everyone," Jennifer said quickly, and then glanced over at Tom and grinned.  "Tom is fairly decent, I'd say."

"Only fairly decent?" Tom said, mock-indignantly.

"Be serious!" Adam protested.  "Really, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Jennifer said firmly.  "I'm not in any real danger; the most I'll have to suffer is a couple of insults."

"You make that sound like it's nothing!" Adam objected.  "And according to the Hufflepuffs you'll have to deal with a lot worse:  hexes, nasty pranks...."  He turned to Tom, his normally cheerful look replaced by utter seriousness.  "Keep an eye out for Jennifer, okay?  You're not a Muggle-born; you'll know if anyone's trying to trick her, and if the other Slytherins know that she isn't on her own, she won't be bothered as much."

"Hey!" Jennifer protested, looking indignant.  "Since when do I need to be protected?  If I remember correctly, it was you who -"  Her voice was muffled and then cut off as Adam clamped his hand over her mouth, a red tinge creeping up his cheeks.

"That's not the point," he said quickly.  "I'm in Hufflepuff.  You're the one who's the Muggle-born in Slytherin."

Jennifer yanked Adam's hand away from her face and glared at him.  "Stop acting like you're my older brother!  I'm older than _you_, if you'll remember."

"Don't worry, Jennifer," Tom said hastily, trying to diffuse the tension, "I won't suddenly start trailing you around the school.  If anyone gives you trouble, I'll definitely help out, but I'd do that for anyone.  Besides, I'm probably in for a harder time than you are; there are loads of Slytherins whose families really hate my father.  We'll just have to stick together and show the rest of the Slytherins that we can stand up for ourselves."     

"Exactly!" Adam said hastily.  "That's all I meant – that you and Tom should look out for each other."

"I can figure that out for myself, thank you," Jennifer said, still looking annoyed.

"I'm allowed to worry about you!" Adam said, looking angry now.  "You're my sister!  My twin sister!  Or have you forgotten that?  Just because we're in separate Houses, we have to pretend we aren't related?  Is that what you want?"  

"No, of course not," Jennifer said, looking slightly apologetic.  "But that doesn't mean that I need you looking out for me; I can do that myself, and you wouldn't be able to do much anyway, not as a Hufflepuff.  If I ever do need your help, I promise I'll let you know, okay?"  She gave Adam a half-smile and dropped her books onto the desk she was standing beside.

"I don't suppose I have much of a choice," Adam said, somewhat reluctantly.  "Just… be careful, okay?  Both of you."  

The bell rang, long and loud.

"I will," Jennifer promised, raising her voice to maker herself heard over the clanging.

"We'll watch out for each other," Tom added, meeting Adam's eyes.  Not breaking his gaze, he silently added, _I'll make sure your sister doesn't get hurt_.

It seemed as though Adam understood; he smiled at Tom, his look of anxiety fading somewhat.  "Good luck, then, you two," Adam said, and hurried back to his seat.

As the last echoes of the bell faded, the classroom door swung open again and their Transfiguration Professor, a short, stern-looking woman, entered the room.  She closed the door firmly and turned to survey the class, which immediately quieted down.

"Good morning," the woman said briskly.  "For those of you who do not know, my name is Professor Reid.  I see that not all of you have your parchment and quills out; please remedy that at once."

Tom hurriedly took out his parchment, quill, and inkwell, and carefully dipped his quill into the ink, and the rest of the class did the same.  

Professor Reid waited for the class to quiet down again, and then she surveyed the class again.  "Transfiguration is a complex magic and can be highly dangerous," she warned.  "Fooling around will not be tolerated."

Kenneth, who had been whispering to Julian, ignored Professor Reid completely.  Tom caught a snatch of the conversation:  "… a Muggle-born Professor!  Father says it's a disgrace; Transfiguration is really important!"

"Indeed, Mr. Viridian, Transfiguration _is_ exceedingly important."

Kenneth turned, looking alarmed; Professor Reid was standing just beside his desk, her mouth a thin line.  

"In fact," she added coldly, "in as much as you think so highly of the subject, I am sure you will not mind assisting me in a small demonstration."

Professor Reid drew her wand, and in a flash of red light, Kenneth was transfigured into a small, bewildered looking monkey.  There was a shocked silence, then the Hufflepuffs – and a number of the Slytherins, including Tom, Jennifer, and Daniel – burst into applause. 

Professor Reid swiftly returned Kenneth to his proper form.  Kenneth, looking highly embarrassed, slouched down in his seat and kept quiet as Professor Reid launched into a lecture on Transfiguration theory.

At last they were each given a match to try to turn into a needle, and Tom set to work eagerly.  He'd always been fascinated by Transfiguration, but he'd never gotten a chance to try it.  

To Tom's disappointment and frustration, he found the task extremely difficult.  Despite all his concentration and effort, it was at least fifteen minutes before the match was affected at all, and even then the change wasn't complete; the match was silvery, but it was still definitely a match.  Fiercely determined to do the transfiguration properly, Tom concentrated even more intensely than before, and at long last, completely worn out, he succeeded.

Tom looked up from his needle to find Professor Reid standing just beside his desk, staring at him in shock.

"What's wrong?" Tom asked, alarmed.  Belatedly, he noticed that the rest of the class was staring at him as well, and that his was the only needle present in the room; none of the others had managed to have any effect on their matches.

Professor Reid found her voice at last.  "Nothing is wrong," she said, smiling for the first time since she'd walked into the room.  "I was just surprised.  You're the first student I've ever had who was able to fully Transfigure a match to a needle on their first lesson.  You must have an extraordinary talent for Transfiguration, and you clearly were paying attention and trying your hardest.  Excellent work, and ten points to Slytherin."  She turned to the rest of the class.  "Well?" she said sharply.  "Get back to work, the rest of you."

Uncomfortably aware that most of the class were still sneaking glances at him and his needle – and hearing whispers of "His father's Harry Potter, what did you expect?" – Tom was relieved when the bell rang at last.

The next class, the class that Tom had really been looking forward to, was Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Professor Longbottom didn't disappoint him.

"The curriculum for first-year students is mostly just theory," Professor Longbottom explained as soon as he had finished taking the roll-call.  The class groaned, and Professor Longbottom smiled.  "It's not as bad as it sounds.  We will be learning how to use some of the more basic defensive spells, and I will do my best to demonstrate every spell that we discuss.  This class may not be as exciting as your Defense Against the Dark Arts classes in future years, but most of my previous students have enjoyed this class as well."  Professor Longbottom smiled again.  "It may help that I often add in stories relating to the spells – and I have quite a few stories, as nearly every spell I will be teaching you has saved my life or the life of a friend at some point or another."

Tom glanced around the room.  Nearly all the students paying rapt attention to Professor Longbottom, looking eager to start; it was common knowledge that Professor Longbottom had taken part in the fight against Voldemort, and his stories would be fascinating.  Tom had heard some of the stories from his father, but not many; Dad hated talking about Voldemort.

Professor Longbottom had paused to survey the class as well, but after a moment he went on.  "Aside from the spells and spell theory that we will be learning, we'll also be discussing the more recent history of Dark Arts, as there is much to be gained from analyzing past events.  I'd rather not have you dozing off in class, though – "  Professor Longbottom grinned – "and so, for the past few years, I have been doing something rather unique in regards to these history lessons.  Does anyone here know what a Pensieve is?"

Tom raised his hand, and so did Jennifer and Adam; they were the only three students to do so.  

 "Yes, Miss Sutherland?"

"It stores memories," Jennifer explained.  "And since it's outside the person's mind, other people can also watch the memories."

"Yes, exactly.  A point to Slytherin.  Can anyone guess why I might have a use for a Pensieve?

Jennifer's hand shot up again, but so did several others, and this time Professor Longbottom nodded to one of the Hufflepuff boys.  "Yes, Mr. Bidwell?"

"You're… going to let us watch memories?" he guessed.  "The memories of people who lived through important parts of history?"

"Exactly," Professor Longbottom said, beaming at him.  "Of course, this will only work for events in the past hundred years or so, because I have no way of retrieving memories from dead people, but I do have quite an assortment to share with you."  He suddenly looked sober.  "Of course, there are many memories that you will not be viewing until fifth year, or perhaps later – war and its accompanying violence are not to be viewed lightly – but there is much that I will show you.  In addition, you will listen to speeches given by important officials at the Ministry, speeches given by Dumbledore – and I will even show you Voldemort himself."

The class gasped – whether at the name or the idea, Tom wasn't sure – and Professor Longbottom looked suddenly stern.

"Now is as good a time as any to bring this up," he said, surveying the classroom.  "I know that all your parents – " his gaze flicked over to Tom and he amended his words.  "Well, nearly all your parents – will not say Voldemort's name.  I was once just as frightened of the name as any, and I understand their fear.  None of you, however, have their excuse – that of living during Voldemort's years in power – and there is no reason why you should be afraid of something as innocuous as a name, especially since Voldemort himself is gone forever.  I understand that you have learned to fear the name through your parents, but you are all old enough to overcome this fear.  I will be using Voldemort's name often, and I will be encouraging you to do the same.  By the end of this year, I expect you all to be able to say the name without hesitation."

Professor Longbottom stern look gave way to a smile.  "But enough of such serious discussion; it is time we began our first lesson.  Who can tell me what the two most basic defensive spells are?"

Tom raised his hand, and Professor Longbottom nodded to him.  "Yes?"

"Expelliarmus and Stupefy."

"Excellent," Professor Longbottom said, smiling.  "The disarming spell and the stunning spell.  A point to Slytherin.  Who can tell me why these two spells are basic defensive spells?"

Tom and Jennifer raised their hands, but so did Adam and several of other students.  Professor Longbottom nodded to a hesitant-looking Hufflepuff.  "Yes, Miss Drisdale?"

"Because they don't do any damage?" the girl guessed.  "They just stop the other person from hurting you."  

"Well put," Professor Longbottom said, smiling again.  "A point to Hufflepuff.  The disarming spell does no direct harm, but it can be very useful in a battle.  In fact, Expelliarmus once saved Harry Potter's life in a battle against Voldemort. "

Several of the others turned around to look at Tom at this mention of his father; uncomfortable, Tom tried to avoid their glances by looking down at his parchment.

Professor Longbottom turned to face the class again.  "We will spend our period today discussing the both the Disarming spell and the Stunning spell," he explained.  "If you listen well and learn the information, then by next week I can begin teaching you how to perform these spells yourself."

Professor Longbottom's explanation of the origins and workings of the two spells was fascinating, and he answered questions clearly and patiently.  Tom was sure that Professor Longbottom was going to be one of his favorite teachers, and looking around the class, it seemed as though the same would be true for most of the others.

Class was over all too soon, and Tom's spirits plummeted as he remembered that Potions was next.  Facing Snape was not something he was looking forward to – at least not if there was any truth to Mum and Dad's stories, and neither of them had ever lied to him.

Potions class took place down in one of the dungeons, in a drafty, cavernous room with pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.  The class was a double one – Slytherin and Gryffindor – but the students were completely silent as they waited for Professor Snape to appear; even the first-years had heard of Snape's reputation.

Professor Snape swept into the classroom just as the bell rang, and immediately began taking attendance.  When he reached Tom's name he paused for a moment to pin him with a look of cold scrutiny, but to Tom's relief, he made no comment.

When Snape was finished calling the names, he looked up at the class.  His eyes were black – cold and empty – and Tom was strongly reminded of his father's descriptions of Dementors.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began.  He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word – Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort.  "As there is little wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic.  I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses….  I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech.  Most of the class looked suitably apprehensive, but Jennifer, Tom saw, was leaning back in her chair with her hands loosely clasped as she watched Professor Snape, clearly neither impressed nor intimidated. 

Professor Snape's glance fell on her, and his expression turned to a glare.

"Sutherland!" he said.  "Is Potions beneath your notice?  Name two ingredients that can be found in a Shrinking Potion."

"Chopped daisy roots and skinned shrivelfig," Jennifer said straight away, still leaning back in her chair.  "Also, sliced caterpillar, one rat spleen, and a dash of leech juice." 

"I said two ingredients," Professor Snape snapped, then swung around to face the class.

"Well?" he said.  "Sutherland here seems to have memorized the Potions textbook, but the rest of you are less fortunate.  Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchments.  Over the noise, Snape added somewhat grudgingly, "Despite your attitude, your answer was correct, Sutherland; take five points for Slytherin."

"Well, that's one good thing about being in Slytherin," Tom whispered to Jennifer as soon as Snape turned away from them.  "If you'd been in Gryffindor, you definitely would have gotten a detention, and points off as well.  Aren't you scared of him at all?"

"No," Jennifer whispered back firmly.  "It's like you said – he doesn't want to take off points from his own house unless he has to – and after all, I really did memorize the Potions textbook."  She grinned.  "I want the Professors to like me – it's much easier to get things done that way, and I'd like to be Head Girl eventually – but Snape's not worth it.  I've seen the way he treats the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs; some of the more timid ones are absolutely terrified of him – and he's prejudiced against Muggle-borns."

"Have you really memorized the Potions textbook?"  Tom grinned.  "Wow.  My father will never believe that there's someone at Hogwarts who's worse than I am about books; even I haven't memorized any textbooks!  Well, not on purpose, at least." 

"Quiet, Miss Sutherland!"  Professor Snape glared at Jennifer from across the room. "You've just gotten yourself a detention; see me after class."

Tom sent Jennifer an apologetic glance for getting her into trouble and then turned back to his note-taking, but he was utterly mystified; why hadn't Professor Snape given him a detention as well?  They'd both been talking, after all, and didn't Snape hate Dad?  All through the rest of the lecture, Tom watched Professor Snape, and his bewilderment grew.  Tom was sitting directly in the center of the classroom, but Professor Snape did not look at him even once throughout the lesson.  His eyes slid right past him, almost as if Tom was wearing an invisibility cloak.

At last Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion, and as they'd been sitting side by side, Tom and Jennifer were together.  They didn't dare talk at first, but they finished their potion long before anyone else, and Professor Snape came around to inspect it, he found nothing at all to criticize.  Scowling, he told Jennifer where to meet him for her detention, and he dismissed the two of them early.

"Snape is acting really weird," Tom said, frowning, as the two of them made their way through the maze of dungeons towards Slytherin House.  "Dismissing us early?  And he was ignoring me all through class, and I still can't figure out why he gave you detention and not me."

"He's probably just annoyed that there's a Muggleborn in Slytherin who knows more than most of the purebloods," Jennifer said, shrugging.  "Compared to me, you're probably just not that big a deal."

"No," Tom said, still frowning, "Snape really hated my father.  Loathed him, in fact.  And he only hated my father because he hated my grandfather, so it makes perfect sense that he would hate me, too.  I think he's deliberately ignoring me; when I was watching him before, he didn't look in my direction once.  But why on earth would he be ignoring me?"

"It's not worth getting so worked up about," Jennifer advised.  "You're probably just imagining things.  Give it a week, at least, before you start worrying."  She grinned.  "You're definitely the only student in the history of Hogwarts to worry about Snape _not _giving them a detention!"

"When you put it that way...."  Tom said, smiling, and he changed the subject.  Still, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was something really strange going on.

That night, Tom sat on his bed with Medusa curled around his shoulders, writing and re-writing his letter back to Mum and Dad as he tried to find the best way to ask his questions so that they'd get answered.  At last he finished, and read it over one last time.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Hogwarts is just as amazing as you said it would be!  Being in Slytherin isn't too bad, because there are two Muggle-borns who were also Sorted into Slytherin.  One of them is the twin sister of the boy I sat with on the train, who was sorted into Hufflepuff. Jennifer has it much worse than I do; there are only three other girls in her dormitory, and two of them are purebloods.  There are two Pure-bloods in my dorm too, but I'm not a Muggle-born, and only one of them is nasty.  The other one won't talk to Daniel (my Muggle-born roommate) but he wasn't mean about it, he actually seemed uncomfortable – it was just because his parents had told him he wasn't allowed to speak to Muggle-borns.   And he just… well, he gives off the impression that he's a fairly decent sort._

_What do you think, Dad?  Should I try to "reform" him?  Wasn't Sirius from a Dark family, too?  You're always telling us that no matter what kind of background a person comes from, there's always a chance for them.  I know you told me to stay away from those kinds of Pure-bloods, but then the only boy in our dormitory for him to be friends with is Kenneth, and if Kenneth rubs off on him, he'll be ruined forever…. _

_The older students aren't bothering me at all so far.  Maybe they're scared of you, Dad?  Maybe their parents didn't want them starting up with our family….  Definitely good thinking on their part!_

_When my roommates first met Medusa, it was a bit of a shock for them, but by now I think they're over it – well, except for Kenneth, the nasty Pure-blood I told you about.  There's nothing that he can complain about, though, so I'm not worried._

_So far, Snape hasn't bothered me at all.  Actually, he's been acting really weird; he hasn't been looking at me, and when I was whispering to someone during class, Snape gave the other kid detention and not me!  I'm not complaining, or anything, but I thought that was weird, if he hates you so much…._

_Has there been a lot of Dark activity lately?  When Professor McGonagall opened that letter you sent to her, she looked really anxious.  Is it a secret?  Can you tell me?  I've been trying to imagine what could make Professor McGonagall look so worried, and I'm starting to scare myself._

_I miss you, everyone!_

_Love, _

_Tom_

Tom sealed the letter and sent if off with one of the school owls, and then, to distract himself from worrying, he started on his homework.  He'd need top grades if he wanted to be Minister of Magic one day, or even an Auror.  And as Aunt Hermione always said, it was never too early to begin studying.


	7. Chapter Six: Purebloods and Parseltongue

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe belongs to JK Rowling. No profit is being made from this story, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**_Author's Notes: _**Many, many apologies for the incredibly long delay. I completely lost contact with my beta-reader, and then when I finally found a new beta, I suddenly realized that the chapter needed more work. It grew and grew, until finally I had to split it into two chapters. So the next chapter is completely finished, and is with my beta-reader right now; it should be up very shortly.

Thanks to everyone who contacted me to ask about the delay and to encourage me to continue; rest assured that I have no plans to abandon this story! In fact, the entire plot is planned out in detail. Special thanks to my new beta, **Veritabatim**, for the excellent and thorough beta job.

**UPDATED**: 1/25/05 – Made a number of significant changes to this chapter to carry the story over to December, in preparation for future chapters. (The changes begin during the scene where Harry receives letters from his mum and dad, and the changes continue up until the end of the chapter.)

* * *

**_Chapter Six – Purebloods and Parseltongue_**

Tom's first few days at Hogwarts passed quickly. The classes – most of them, at least – were just as enjoyable as Tom had hoped, and he and Jennifer were quickly becoming good friends. This was largely because they had no one but each other to spend time with; Jennifer's roommates ignored her, and Brian and Daniel, who had hit it off almost immediately over a shared obsession with sports, spent all of their free time outdoors or poring over the moving illustrations of the books in Brian's Quidditch collection. Kenneth had made it clear that he hated both Tom and Jennifer, and although Julian had attempted to be friendly once or twice, his prejudice against Muggle-borns and the fact that he spent so much time with Kenneth made Tom reluctant to befriend him. By his second day at Hogwarts, Tom had decided to avoid Julian until his father wrote back with advice on how to deal with the situation.

In all, being in Slytherin wasn't as terrible as Tom had feared, but neither was it as easy as it had first appeared. During his first day, the other Slytherins had indeed avoided him and ignored him, just as he had written to his father. But over the next few days, the situation quickly deteriorated. Whispered taunts – some mild, some venomous – were hurled at Tom and Jennifer wherever they went: in the Great Hall at mealtimes, in the halls on the way to classes, and every time they made an appearance in the common room.

"Filthy Mudblood!"

"Swots!"

"Mudblood lover!"

Tom found it easy to ignore the insults, as he simply didn't care what the other Sytherins thought of him. Jennifer found them harder to deal with; she flinched at the jeers and soon refused to spend any time in the common room at all. This exasperated Tom to no end.

"Why do you _care_?" he asked, yet again, on their third day of classes. They were standing just outside the Slytherin common room. "Who _cares_ what they think? You know that you're smarter than them, and better than them – we both are! They're just close-minded, immature gits! It's not as though they're trying to hex us, not since that fourth-year that Medusa scared away. Who cares about what they say? And we can't spend time together in my dormitory, or yours – where exactly are we supposed to meet if not the common room?"

"Use your imagination!" Jennifer snapped back. "The library, outdoors, empty classrooms…. Most _normal_ people find it distracting to be constantly flooded with insults! I came to Hogwarts expecting to find friends, and instead I was sorted into a House of people who all hate me! No offense, Tom, but I prefer hanging around more than just one person – and it would be nice to have another girl to talk to. So no, I can't just ignore the insults, because they remind me that my next seven years here are not exactly going to be much fun!"

"We can sit with other Houses in the Great Hall," Tom suggested as he absent-mindedly stroked Medusa, who was coiled around his left arm and was half-asleep. "Not all the time, because then Snape or McGonagall will send us back to the Slytherin table, but if we only do it once in a while, no one will mind. We can sit with Adam, or even with my cousin in Ravenclaw – I'm sure he'll introduce us to the other Ravenclaws in our year."

"That's a good idea," Jennifer said, and gave Tom a small smile. "Sorry for shouting at you like that. It's just – I'm not used to this. Not at all. Back at home, I was always one of the popular kids…." Jennifer trailed off. "It's just hard to get used to, and it's the worst in the common room."

"It's raining outside, though," Tom pointed out. "And we need special permission to use an empty classroom, and we're not allowed to eat in the library, or talk any louder than a whisper. But the library will do for now, I guess."

Together they headed through the maze of passages that made up the dungeons towards the staircase that led to the upper levels. A group of approaching sixth-year girls spotted them and developed identical sneers.

"We _must_ remember to tell Snape that the dungeons are infested with rodents," a tall, dark-haired girl said loudly.

"The filth is unbearable," the girl on her left agreed, an expression of disgust on her face.

"And the stench!" A short, dark-skinned girl raised her wand and pointed it at her own face. "_Foetidus__ Occludus_!" She took a deep breath and let out a dramatic sigh. "Much better."

Jennifer hunched over her books and began walking more quickly, and Tom hurried to keep up.

"Oh look." The tall girl sneered. "The Mudblood's frightened. Poor ickle Mudblood. No one _likes_ her."

"She _should_ be frightened," the fourth girl said viciously.

"Faster, Mudblood!" the short girl ordered. "Get out of our sight!"

Jennifer slowed down, but she stayed hunched over her books, and Tom could see – to his alarm – that she seemed to be fighting tears.

A sudden flare of anger rose up in Tom, and he whirled around to face the other Slytherins.

"Help me, Medusa," he hissed in Parseltongue. "Frighten the girls."

Medusa was instantly alert. "Certainly," she said. She slithered down his arm, coiled herself up on the palm of his hand, and then raised the upper half of her body, her tongue flicking in and out. "Like thisss?"

The sneers on the girls' faces disappeared, replaced by looks of alarm.

"Excellent," Tom said to Medusa. "Stay in that position and hiss." He noted with vindictive satisfaction that the girls flinched every time he spoke in Parseltongue, and he was struck with a sudden idea.

Tom turned to face the girls, drew himself up to his full height, and extended his left arm, the one on which Medusa was perched and was weaving back and forth. "Stop!" he hissed at the girls in Parseltongue, trying to look as angry as possible. "Enough! The four of you should be expelled. You're cruel, sadistic, evil gits – Voldemort would've been proud of you!"

The four girls looked positively terrified by now; no doubt Parseltongue spoken in anger was even more intimidating that it would have been ordinarily. It was strangely satisfying to be able to say whatever he liked with no one any the wiser.

"You may think that we're just defenseless first years," Tom continued heatedly, "but we won't be first years forever, and Jennifer and I are the top students in our year. If you ever bother us again, I'll make sure you regret it!" Tom raised his wand in his right hand, and as if released from a spell, the four girls turned and fled down the corridor.

"They're heading towards the common room," Tom said, switching back to English as he watched the four girls dash around a corner and out of sight. "Let's hope they scare off the rest of the Slytherins with their story and that no one plans any revenge." He glanced over at Jennifer and saw that she looked pale. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She let out a shaky laugh. "You can be really scary when you want to be, you know that? I was just imagining what you'd be like if you were an adult. You sounded terrifying – and Medusa looked like she was about to attack. What did you say?"

"Nothing much. Told them what I thought of them, and to leave us alone, or else." Tom shrugged. "It's mostly Medusa that scared them off, I think." He stroked Medusa's coils and switched back to Parseltongue. "Thanks for the help, Medusa. You can go back to your nap, if you'd like."

"Yess, I think I will. Wake me if you ssusspect that you will have more trouble." Medusa slithered back into the sleeve of Tom's robe and coiled herself around his arm.

Tom turned back to Jennifer, who still looked a bit shaken. "Do you still want to go to the library?"

"Yes, I do," Jennifer said firmly, a bit of color returning to her face. "The more quickly I learn magic, the sooner I'll be able to defend myself properly."

"Sounds like a plan," Tom said, smiling, and the two of hurried up the stone stairs and out of the dungeons.

When Tom and Jennifer returned to the Slytherin common room that night, all heads turned in their direction and murmurs spread across the room, but not a single insult was thrown at them. Together Tom and Jennifer hurried across the room and into the passageway that led to the dormitories, where they parted with relieved smiles and quick good nights.

The next morning was the same. The other Slytherins whispered as they passed and cast unfriendly looks at them, but there was no taunting, no name-calling. As they headed out of the dungeons and into the sunlight, Tom felt positively cheerful. "Do you want to sit with another House today?" he asked Jennifer.

"Yes, definitely," Jennifer said, smiling. "Hufflepuff, I think. I haven't had a chance to really talk to Adam for ages."

Adam looked surprised when they slipped into seats across from him at the Hufflepuff table, but he recovered swiftly and seemed really pleased to see them. He promptly introduced them to his many friends, who were surprisingly friendly, given that the two of them were Slytherins. It was a welcome relief for Tom to be surrounded by people who didn't hate him.

With friendly chatter washing over him as he ate, Tom felt himself relaxing for the first time in days. When the owls soared into the Great Hall for the morning mail delivery and Tom spotted Hedwig swooping towards him, his spirits rose even further. A letter from Mum and Dad would be a comforting reminder of home, and he was anxiously awaiting Dad's answers to his questions.

Tom untied the envelope from Hedwig's leg, slit it open, and pulled out the letter inside. Or rather, letters. A small note was folded up inside the larger parchment, and when Tom unfolded it, he saw it was from Mum.

_Dear Tom,_

_I haven't had the chance to write a proper letter, but I couldn't let Dad send you his letter without including a note of my own, however short. _

_How are you enjoying your classes? Hogwarts itself? Which is your favorite subject? As soon as you get the chance, I want a nice long letter!_

_Also, I want you to promise me that you'll let us know if anything happens, if any of the Slytherins do start giving you a hard time, all right? I've been trying not to worry about you, but it isn't easy. I miss you terribly; I've already begun counting down the days until the Holidays. I love you, Tom. Make us proud._

_Mum_

After the chill of the Slytherin dungeons and the cold attitudes of the Slytherins themselves, reading a letter from Mum was like being wrapped snugly in blankets on a cold winter night. The long months ahead, far away from home, seemed suddenly bleak.

Almost absent-mindedly, Tom reached out to stroke Hedwig. She hooted, and when Tom turned to glance at her, she nudged Dad's letter with her beak. Tom smiled – he wondered sometimes what it would be like to understand Hedwig, the way he understood snakes – and he began to read.

_Dear Tom,_

_We were happy to hear that you've found friends in Slytherin and that so far no one has been giving you a hard time. Yes, we do think that you should be friendly towards Julian. I have met his father several times at various Ministry functions, and although he is strongly prejudiced against Muggles and Muggle-borns - and vocally so - he never subscribed to the belief that they should be killed or even harmed. As far as I have gathered over the years from my various sources, he was never a Voldemort supporter or sympathizer, and he seems to be a fairly decent person. Chances are that Julian is a decent boy as well, and if the two of you become friendly, it may help to lessen his prejudices._

_Now that we've gotten that out of the way, I'm sure you've been wondering (and worrying!) about how the rest of the family has been reacting to the news that you were Sorted into Slytherin. You'll be relieved to hear that they've mostly been taking it well. Jamie was devastated at first – because he's absolutely certain that he'll be Sorted into Gryffindor, and that would mean that the two of you will be in separate Houses – but by now, he's mostly resigned to it, and I think he's even beginning to like the idea of not having his older brother constantly around to keep an eye on him. Uncle Ron is glad you're not a Quidditch player, though; he says he couldn't possibly cheer for the Slytherin team! After they got over their first shock, Fred and George were positively gleeful; you can expect several owl deliveries of all sorts of pranks to play on the Slytherins, now that you have access to the Slytherin common room and such. DON'T follow their instructions! If you're caught playing pranks on the other Slytherins, then trust me, they WILL start giving you a hard time. Grandma took the news the hardest, but we explained to her that the Sorting Hat changed its policy this year, and that there were even a number of Muggle-borns Sorted into Slytherin with you. She still isn't happy about it, so if Professor McGonagall gets a Howler tomorrow morning, you'll know who it's from. I've warned her not to mention your name, so we can only hope that no one will realize that it's you she's referring to._

_Speaking of Professor McGonagall, yes, the letter I sent to her did concern Dark matters, but if all goes as I hope it will, there is nothing to be concerned about._

_As for Professor Snape's behavior, did you consider they he may be trying to overcome his tendency towards treating Potters unfairly? After all, he is your Head of House; perhaps he feels that unless he ignores you, his dislike for our family will cause him to act in ways he might regret. It would make sense, then, that he would be reluctant to give you detention, as he might rather err by treating you too leniently rather than too harshly. There's no reason to worry about it, I assure you._

_Love you,_

_Dad_

Tom reread the last paragraph of the letter, frowning. Dad's explanation for Snape's behavior made very little sense; from the stories that Tom had heard about Snape, and from what Tom had witnessed so far in the classroom, there was no way that Snape cared in the slightest about treating his students fairly. Still, anything was possible….

Firmly putting the matter out of his mind, for there were more important things to worry about, Tom considered what Dad had written about Julian. Getting friendly with Julian would be difficult – he'd have to try to find some way of speaking to Julian without Kenneth anywhere nearby – and it would likely take a great deal of effort. Still, it was doable…. But befriending Julian could wait a few weeks. Living at Hogwarts was still too new, and so were the classes, and he still had to work out some way of protecting himself and Jennifer from the other Slytherins….

As the days and then weeks passed, the other Slytherins stayed far away. Tom and Jennifer were relieved and uneasy by turns; conversations often stopped when they entered the Slytherin common room, and hateful glances were frequently cast their way. It was easy to wonder if some sort of malicious plot was in the makings. The older students were particularly intimidating – Rosier and MacDougal, the boys who'd started up with him and Adam on the train, were the worst of the lot – but no one attempted to hex Tom or Jennifer, and for that alone they were grateful.

But they were not shunned by everyone. Tom and Jennifer allowed themselves the luxury of eating meals with Adam at the Hufflepuff table as often as they dared; Snape had summoned Jennifer to his office at the end of a week during which they had not eaten a single meal at the Slytherin table, and had threatened her with dire consequences if she continued to avoid the Slytherin table completely. Tom had pointed out to Jennifer how bizarre it was that Snape hadn't spoken to him as well – but Jennifer was convinced that Snape simply held a grudge against her for her attitude in his class. Unlike Tom, who tried to remain inconspicuous in Potions – which was made easy by the fact that Snape continued to ignore Tom completely – Jennifer seemed to take a perverse delight in provoking Snape.

"He's an utter git," Jennifer had explained once to Tom, cheerfully unconcerned at the prospect of yet another detention. "And I went over to McGonagall after that time when he gave me a week's worth of detention for nothing more than my tone of voice, and you know how I'm a model student in her class – I think she really likes me, even though she supposedly doesn't normally like Slytherins – and I think she warned him, because since then, he only gives me detentions when he really loses his temper. I don't mind getting a couple of detentions a month if it means not having to cower in class. I've asked around, and it's the Head of House who chooses the Prefects, unless the Headmaster or Headmistress interferes, and there's no way that Snape would choose me, no matter how quiet and meek I am in his class, so why bother?"

It was true that Snape did seem to loathe Jennifer, but that didn't explain the fact that Snape ignored Tom completely. Every once in a while, Tom mulled over what Dad had written in his letter – that maybe Snape was trying to keep his old grudges from taking over – but even though this made no sense, Tom couldn't come up with any other explanation for Snape's strange behavior.

But their frustrations over Snape and their fellow Slytherins were overshadowed by the thrill of learning magic and the heartening camaraderie offered by Adam's friends. As the weeks passed, Tom and Jennifer quickly grew immersed in their new life at Hogwarts. September faded into October, and then October into November. Every week, without fail, Tom received a letter from Mum or Dad – and in early December, Dad's letter asked about Julian.

In dealing with the overwhelming experience of adjusting to life at Hogwarts, Tom had completely forgotten about his resolution to befriend Julian – but now that he'd been reminded, Tom was determined to begin immediately. In all the weeks that had passed, he and Julian had exchanged nothing more than the occasional polite 'Hello' and 'Excuse Me' – but unlike Kenneth, whose nastiness only grew worse with the passing time, Julian didn't show any sign of disliking Tom. Kenneth was the only real hindrance to Tom's plan, as he and Julian were nearly always together, and Tom knew this could only work if Kenneth had no opportunity to interfere.

It wasn't until the end of the week that Tom got his chance. Kenneth had been caught hexing another first year – a Muggle-born Ravenclaw – and had been assigned several hours' worth of detention with Filch directly after supper.

Since Brian and Daniel were somewhere outdoors, this meant that Tom and Julian were left alone in their dorm. With Medusa coiled around his shoulders, Tom approached Julian with what he hoped was a friendly smile. "Isn't Hogwarts great?"

Julian looked up from the essay he was writing, his expression wary. "Yes, it is," he said. It was clear that he was wondering why Tom had suddenly decided to stop ignoring him.

"I'm really enjoying the classes," Tom pressed on, determined to start a conversation. "I miss my family, though. I have a bunch of younger brothers and sisters. Do you have any siblings?"

Julian still looked confused, but he answered readily enough. "Yes," he said, "I have one sister. She's much older than I am, though, so I don't know her very well."

"Where does she live?" Tom asked curiously. "I have an uncle who lives in Romania, but he visits us as often as he can."

"She lives at home," Julian said, clearly puzzled by Tom's question. "Why would you think she lives abroad?"

Now Tom was confused. "But you said you don't know her very well!"

"I hardly ever see her," Julian explained. "Her rooms aren't near mine at all, so even before starting at Hogwarts, I never saw her much. I did see her at dinner most nights, but I'm still too young to be allowed to join in the conversation, so…. " Julian shrugged.

Tom was still bewildered. "What do you mean, you never saw her much? You were living in the same house!"

"Yes, but we're on opposite sides of the manor," Julian explained. "Her rooms are in the East wing, and mine are in the South wing, where the nursery and classrooms and children's rooms are. Don't you have separate wings in your house?"

"No," Tom said, taken aback. "Our house just has a main level, then another floor where all the children's bedrooms are, and then a second floor for my parents."

"Really?" Julian looked surprised. "Your family is one of the old ones, though; what happened to the Potter estates?"

_Potter estates?_ "I have no idea," Tom admitted.

"So you don't live on any estate at all?" Julian looked flabbergasted now.

"No, we don't." Tom was beginning to feel defensive. He knew his family was well-off, even wealthy; who cared about living on an estate? And who'd want to live in a house where you only saw your siblings at dinner?

Julian still looked shocked. "But then – what did you do all day? Whenever I wasn't with my tutor, I spent my time outside on the grounds of our estates, horse-back riding and hunting…. And my father's hobby is herpetology, so we have a snake preserve on our main estate, the largest one in England." He looked wistful. "I have two pet snakes; you're really lucky that you were allowed to bring yours with you. I wish _I_ could speak Parseltongue."

"A snake preserve?" Tom said. "Really? Wow! I'd love to visit a place like that and talk to all the snakes…."

"You can visit, if you'd like," Julian offered. "During holidays or summer vacation. My father would be pleased; he's always happy to welcome snake-lovers to the preserve."

Tom felt a spark of excitement flare, but reality quickly dampened it. "I'd love to, but there's no way my father would give me permission. He's always worried that one of us is going to get kidnapped, and he doesn't know your family well enough to let me go off on my own."

"Isn't your father a Parselmouth, too?" Julian said. "He might enjoy visiting the preserve as well, and then he can bring you over himself…."

"Maybe," Tom said doubtfully. "I'll ask him." He smiled at Julian. "Thanks for the offer, though, no matter what happens. At least I have Medusa."

"One of my pet snakes is an adder as well," Julian said, smiling. "A male, though. Is your snake very intelligent?"

"Medusa's amazing," Tom said proudly, and launched into the story of one of Medusa's many brilliant ideas. Julian listened with interest and then rejoined with a story of his own.

As they swapped tales, Julian slowly grew less reserved, and soon he and Tom were laughing together over one of Tom's funnier accounts. The time passed more quickly than Tom would have thought possible, and as he glanced at his watch, he realized in alarm that Kenneth might be returning at any moment. Quickly, Tom excused himself to find Jennifer and finish his schoolwork.

When Tom returned to the dormitory later that night, he hurriedly got undressed and climbed into bed.

"Goodnight, Tom," Julian called out from across the room.

Tom drew back his curtains. "Goodnight, Julian," he said, and smiled. Instinctively, he turned to Kenneth's bed. Even in the darkened room, Tom could see that Kenneth looked furious at the sudden friendliness between the two boys. Indeed, as Kenneth turned to glare at Tom, his expression was one of outright hatred.

Tom closed his curtains again and tried to fall asleep, but the hatred on Kenneth's face was hard to forget. Kenneth's grudge against him and Medusa was nothing new, but this pure hatred was unexpected and frightening. Tom lay awake for a long while, wondering uneasily if Kenneth might try to take revenge.


	8. Chapter Seven: Serpents and Secrets

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**_Author notes:_** The new information we received from JKR about portraits came as a bit of an unpleasant surprise for me; I had thought that portraits varied in how "alive" they were, and then some portraits could be as fully realized as ghosts. (The Fat Lady, Phineas Nigellus....) In any case, I had to rewrite part of one scene in this chapter to make allowances for this. I'm just glad that I hadn't yet submitted the chapter before I found out about it! Many thanks to Veritabatim for the beta, and thanks to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter.

Minor Updates: 1/27/05

* * *

**_Chapter Seven – Serpents and Secrets_**

As Tom drifted awake the next morning, he heard Kenneth and Julian arguing. They were speaking in angry whispers, so Tom couldn't quite make out the words, but he caught his name several times. Uneasily, he wondered if Kenneth would convince Julian to stop speaking to him. Careful not to move, so as not to rustle his sheets and give away the fact that he had woken up, he strained his ears to try to hear as much as he could.

"… threatening me, now?" Julian was whispering harshly. "…. my father!"

Kenneth's reply was just as heated, and slightly louder. "… that Mudblood! …. disgrace! How can I associate with you if you associate with _him_?"

"I am a Romano!" Julian snapped back, his voice now loud enough to be heard clearly. "It would take far more than associating with Potter to mar my status! It isn't as though he's a Muggle-born himself, or even a half-blood. And he's a Parseltongue!"

"Fine," Kenneth said angrily. "Do what you want."

"I will," Julian said coolly.

There was a long silence, which was broken at last by the door to the room being opened and then slammed shut.

It was clearly Kenneth who had left, for Julian said aloud into the silence, "Prat!"

Tom waited a few moments, then began to rustle his bed sheets. He waited a moment longer, and then sat up in bed; the mattress made a satisfying creak.

"Tom? Are you awake?" Julian called. He sounded alarmed.

Tom waited a moment and then drew open his hangings, rubbing his eyes as he spoke. "Just woke up," he said, and yawned, hoping his voice sounded sufficiently sleep-garbled. "Thought I heard a bit of shouting, but it must have been my dream."

Julian looked relieved. "It's getting late," he said, obviously eager to change the subject. "We should head up to breakfast soon. I'll wait for you."

"Thanks," Tom said, surprised. "Just give me a minute or two, okay?" He looked around the room and saw that Daniel and Brian were not, as he had expected, still asleep. Their hangings were drawn back, their sheets crumpled, but the boys themselves were nowhere in sight. "Where are Brian and Daniel?" he asked, surprised.

"Brian decided to start waking up early to train for Quidditch," Julian explained. "He mentioned it to me last night. He was already gone by the time I woke up."

"What about Daniel?" Tom asked, puzzled.

"The same," Julian answered shortly, and quickly turned away to rummage in his trunk, cutting off the conversation.

_Still trying to ignore Daniel, then_, Tom thought, and he sighed. It would take a lot more than one conversation before Julian would begin to reconsider his old beliefs. Still, Julian had stuck up for Tom against Kenneth, and that was far more than Tom had any right to expect. Quickly, he got dressed, checked up on a still-sleeping Medusa, and gathered his school supplies.

"Ready?" Julian asked.

Tom nodded. He picked up his pile of books, and together they made their way to the Slytherin common room.

Jennifer was waiting for him in their usual spot, and she looked shocked to see him with Julian.

"Just a minute, Julian," Tom said quickly, and he hurried across the room towards Jennifer.

"What's going on?" Jennifer demanded in a heated whisper. "Why are the two of you acting so friendly?"

Tom made sure to keep his voice just as low. "He's not nearly as bad as most of the others," he said quickly. "He doesn't like Muggle-borns, but he doesn't bother them, either, and he seems like a decent sort. I want to try to spend some time with him, try to win him over." Tom gave Jennifer a quick smile. "We're just walking down to breakfast together, but you go ahead to our usual spot, and I'll sit down next to you. If Julian wants to sit down on my other side, that's his choice. Okay?"

Jennifer quickly glanced over at Julian – Tom saw that he was determinedly looking away from the two of them – and then looked back at Tom. "Okay," she said, sounding somewhat resigned.

"You'll be okay on your own, right?" Tom asked, somewhat anxiously.

Jennifer's eyes flashed. "Of course I will!" She sounded highly indignant.

"Because of the Slytherins," Tom added hastily. "I mean, will be okay on your own against the other Slytherins? It's mostly me that they're scared of, I think."

"I know what you meant," Jennifer said, a bit coldly this time. "I'll be fine." She quickly gathered up her school things and hurried across the common room and out into the dungeon passages.

Tom watched her go, anxiously hoping that he hadn't offended her too badly. _Should I run after her? But then, what about Julian? If I leave without him, he'll be offended as well! And he's from one of the old Pureblood families; he won't forgive me easily._

"Tom?"

Tom turned around quickly at the sound of Julian's voice.

"It's getting late," Julian said cautiously. "We should go." He hesitated. "Unless… has something urgent come up?"

"No, let's go," Tom said, putting on a smile. _I won't be able to catch up to Jennifer now anyway._

When they arrived at the Great Hall, and then at the Slytherin table, Tom was relieved to see Jennifer sitting in their usual spot. He'd half-expected that she would go off to sit with her brother.

"Good morning, Jennifer," he said, taking deliberate care to make his voice sound cheerful. He slid into the seat beside her, and looked back at Julian. "Join me?" he said, gesturing to the spot on his left.

Julian looked wary, and he hesitated for several long moments, but at last he slipped into the seat. "Please pass the muffins," he said, and Tom let out the breath he'd been holding.

The situation quickly deteriorated, however. Tom tried to start a conversation with Jennifer, but clearly she was still a bit angry at him, because her answers were short and curt. Julian was clearly uncomfortable with sitting at such close proximity to a Muggle-born, and Tom was reluctant to begin any conversations with him, for fear that Jennifer would feel that he was ignoring her.

Exasperated, Tom fell back on the one method that he knew was a sure-fire way to goad Jennifer into speaking; challenging one of Jennifer's pet theories. He closed his eyes and tried to remember their homework session the night before, and within moments, he'd recalled something that they'd disagreed about.

Sure enough, Jennifer could not resist an argument. Tom tried not to let his relief show as he argued back as best as he could, trying not to let himself be distracted by Julian's presence. Frequent glances at Julian showed that he was trying his best to look uninterested – and failing dismally.

Just as the debate was reaching its most heated, Tom turned to Julian. "What do _you_ think?" he asked.

Julian hesitated for a moment and then glanced around; to Tom's relief, no one was looking in their direction. Would Julian be willing to acknowledge that he'd been listening?

"You're wrong," Julian said finally.

Tom tried not to smile in relief. "Prove it!" he challenged.

The debate was back on. When Jennifer jumped in as well, Julian avoided looking at her, and didn't acknowledge what she said directly, but he built on her arguments to strengthen his own position.

It was a start. For the first time in his life, Tom didn't mind that he was clearly losing a debate.

Still, Tom gamely tried to defend his position; the longer he could keep this dynamic going, the better. He had retreated to arguing his main point, rather heatedly, when suddenly he realized that his voice sounded unnaturally loud.

The table had suddenly gone completely silent; everyone was staring apprehensively at something behind Tom's back.

Tom turned his head, and found himself face-to-face with the Headmistress, who looked unusually solemn.

"Come with me, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said brusquely.

Tom desperately tried to figure out what he'd done wrong. He hadn't broken any rules, had he? And anyway, why was Professor McGonagall herself coming to get him? Only the most serious offences were taken to the Headmistress. Had something happened at home? Tom tried to quash his growing alarm.

"Good luck," Jennifer whispered with a commiserating look, and Julian looked sympathetic as well. Tom attempted to smile in return, but he couldn't quite manage it. The others Slytherins, by contrast, looked positively gleeful that Tom had gotten into trouble. Kenneth – who was sitting alone, just a few seats down – was strangely expressionless. His eyes darted over towards Tom and then returned firmly to his plate.

Tom frowned. He'd been almost sure that their end of the table had been deserted.

"Hurry up, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said sharply. "I haven't all day."

Reluctantly Tom stood up, and Professor McGonagall led the way across the Great Hall, out into the entranceway, and up to the second floor, her pace brisk; Tom had to fall into a half-run to keep up. She stopped before a large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle.

"Teagasgair!" she said, with a pronounced Scottish accent. This was evidently a password, because the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two. Even full of anxiety for what was coming, Tom couldn't fail to be amazed. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase that was moving smoothly upward in circles. As he and Professor McGonagall stepped onto it, Harry heard the wall thud closed behind them. They rose upward in circles, higher and higher, until at last, slightly dizzy, Harry saw a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.

Was this Professor McGonagall's office?

Apparently it was, for as soon as Professor McGonagall had stepped off the stone staircase at the top, she opened the door without stopping to knock. Tom followed Professor McGonagall inside.

"Wait here," she said curtly, and walked across the room and disappeared through another door.

Tom looked around. One thing was certain: it was the most fascinating room Tom had ever been in.

It was a circular room, large and beautiful, whose wall-to-wall bookcases were packed tightly with ancient-looking books. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and sitting on a shelf behind it was the shabby, tattered Sorting Hat.

Tom turned to look around the rest of the room and gasped. Standing on a golden perch behind the door was a magnificent, swan-sized bird with a glittering golden tail as long as a peacock's and brilliant red plumage. It had a long, sharp golden beak and beady black eyes, and was fixing Tom with its piercing gaze.

And then, suddenly, the phoenix began to trill, a strange unearthly music that unaccountably reassured Tom and helped his pounding heart return to its normal rate.

"I see you've met Fawkes," Professor McGonagall said crisply from just behind him.

Tom whirled around, startled at McGonagall's sudden re-entrance, but the phoenix was still singing, and Tom's previous anxiety had been forgotten. "He's incredible," Tom said in awe. "Is he yours?"

"In a manner of speaking." Professor McGonagall stroked Fawkes. "He belonged to Professor Dumbledore, and for Dumbledore's sake, he has stayed on to assist me after Dumbledore's death." She turned to look at Tom with a strange expression on her face. "What do you think of him? Do you like his singing?"

"Amazing," Tom said honestly. "Is it… magic, or something?"

"What makes you say that?" McGonagall asked, her expression still unreadable.

Tom shrugged, uncomfortable. "Well… I was nervous, when you brought me here," he said awkwardly. "I couldn't think of anything I'd done wrong, and – well, most students aren't _ever_ called into your office. But as soon as Fawkes started singing, I stopped worrying. I know that phoenix tears have healing powers, but does their singing also have some sort of magical property?"

Professor McGonagall smiled. "Yes, it does indeed," she said. "And I'm glad to see that you were affected by it the way that you were. However" – her smile disappeared – "I'm afraid I do have a serious matter to discuss with you."

Fawkes had stopped singing, and Tom felt his apprehension returning in full force. He waited anxiously for McGonagall to explain.

Professor McGonagall looked as though she was reluctant to begin. "One of your House prefects spoke to me this morning," she started at last. "It seems that your snake has been threatening one of your roommates – hissing at him, preventing him from entering the dormitory whenever you are not around."

Tom gaped at her. "Medusa?" he said, astonished and indignant. "She would _never_ do something like that! Who? Who was it who said that? It was Kenneth, wasn't it?"

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you who it was," Professor McGonagall told him, not without sympathy. "However, I do know that there must have been at the very least some truth to the accusation, because I spoke to the boy myself, and I have ways of detecting outright lies that are spoken in this office. Considering that under normal circumstances, snakes are not one of the pets that are allowed at Hogwarts, I feel that I can no longer allow your snake to remain here."

Tom stared at McGonagall in dismay. "But Medusa isn't a pet!" he tried to explain. "She's my friend – I talk to her all the time! And Medusa would never hiss at one of my roommates for no reason! Maybe if Kenneth was looking through my trunk, or – or trying to pull a prank on me, but Medusa _knows_ that she's supposed to avoid the other students, and she _knows_ that she'll get sent home if she does anything she isn't supposed to. She would never do something like that!"

"I'm sorry, Tom, but I'm afraid your snake can no longer remain here at Hogwarts." Professor McGonagall sat down behind her desk and pulled out a piece of parchment. "I'll write to your father to discuss how to send it back safely. You may go."

Tom watched in alarm as Professor McGonagall dipped her quill into a pot of ink. "Medusa didn't do anything wrong!" he said. "Kenneth hates me, and he hates Medusa – this is just his way of getting revenge! It isn't fair!"

McGonagall paused to fix Tom with a stern look. "You have been dismissed," she said. "I understand that you are upset, but after all, it is only a snake."

Only a snake? Medusa was a friend – why couldn't McGonagall understand that? And without Medusa to make the other Slytherins wary of him, he and Jennifer would be completely unprotected! Tom let all his worry and distress show on his face, and he edged closer to the desk with what he hoped was a suitably pathetic look. "Please let her stay," Tom pleaded. "The Slytherins all hate me and Jennifer. Without Medusa to make them think twice about starting up with us, we'll be miserable!"

Professor McGonagall's expression softened. "Jennifer is the Muggle-born?"

"Yes," Tom said, letting his voice become even more anxious-sounding.

McGonagall sighed. "I understand that it is not easy for you to be in Slytherin House," she said, and leaned over to pat Tom's shoulder. She sat back in her chair and straightened a stack of papers. "However, I'm afraid that isn't a sufficient reason to allow your snake to remain here at Hogwarts once it has threatened a student."

"Surely, Minerva, you can give the boy a chance to prove the snake's innocence?" a deep voice said, reprovingly.

Tom whirled around, startled. One of the old Headmasters whose portrait hung on the wall just above the doorway, across from the desk – Professor Dumbledore – was looking at Professor McGonagall with a slight frown, his eyebrows raised.

McGonagall seemed taken aback at the interruption as well. "This is a simple student affair, Albus," she said, the quill she was holding poised motionless in midair. "Surely you needn't concern yourself? And your suggestion is impractical. I can see no way for the boy to prove the snake's innocence."

"Practical or not, Tom should be given the chance," Dumbledore said firmly. "Perhaps he will surprise you." He smiled, his eyes twinkling. "A few days – or weeks – will do no harm, surely?"

"Very well," McGonagall said after a moment's hesitation. "Though I must admit I am mystified by your concern." She turned to Tom. "As Professor Dumbledore has pleaded on your behalf, I will give you until the Holidays to prove that your snake did nothing wrong. That gives you nearly two weeks. If you cannot prove this, you will not be allowed to bring your snake back with you to Hogwarts after the Holidays."

"Thank you," Tom said, relieved at the reprieve. He turned to Dumbledore's portrait. "Thank you, sir," he said again, gratefully.

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. "I believe in second chances," he said, and then turned again to Professor McGonagall. "Minerva? If it isn't too much trouble, may I speak with you privately for a moment?"

Professor McGonagall looked surprised. "Certainly." She turned to Tom. "Wait here," she said, and walked briskly across the room and through the doorway that she had entered earlier. The door closed behind her, and after a muffled "Silencio!" Tom heard nothing more.

Tom turned back to Dumbledore's portrait, and saw that the old man has disappeared from the frame. _Of course, _Tom realized. _She must have another portrait of him in that other room. Are they talking about me?_

A sudden trill broke the silence, and Tom turned, startled; he'd almost forgotten about the phoenix. Fawkes was still perched on his stand, but his beady eyes were fixed on Tom with a strange intensity.

Tom shifted in place. He was uncomfortable at being subjected to such a piercing scrutiny, but he somehow felt that he couldn't look away. He tried not to blink, and wondered uneasily why Fawkes was paying him so much attention.

Just as Tom's eyes were beginning to water under the strain of keeping the phoenix's gaze for so long, Fawkes suddenly let out another trill, and then, without warning, spread his wings and flew across the room to perch on Tom's shoulder.

Tom staggered back, unprepared for the sudden weight, but he recovered quickly, and Fawkes folded up his wings and settled down, his feathers incredibly soft against the side of Tom's face. Tom turned his head to stare in wonder at the incredible sight of a phoenix perched on his shoulder. He felt a thrill of exhilaration. How many people could say that a phoenix had granted them such an honor?

Hesitantly, Tom reached up to stroke the phoenix, half-afraid that Fawkes would consider such a move offensive. To Tom's relief, Fawkes trilled in obvious pleasure, sending vibrations pulsating down through Tom's shoulder and on through the rest of his body. Within seconds, all his tension had faded away; it was as if he had been given an extra-strength calming drought.

Dumbledore's hushed voice suddenly drifted into the room. It was a low murmur, indistinguishable – but where was it coming from? With his right hand still resting on Fawkes' feathers, Tom quickly glanced around the room. The door through which McGonagall had left was still closed, the silencing charm no doubt still in place.

Tom tilted his head, still trying to locate the sound. _No, definitely not from the door, _he decided._ But then where is coming from?_ He listened again, slowly swiveling in his place. _Is it coming from the portrait?_

Tom hesitated for a moment. Eavesdropping was most certainly not something that his parents would approve of – even though they had done plenty of eavesdropping themselves, if Uncle Ron's stories could be believed. But Tom was almost certain that Dumbledore and McGonagall were discussing _him_, and the temptation was too strong to resist. Slowly, Tom approached the portrait – and sure enough, Dumbledore's voice grew more distinct.

"I insist, Minerva!" Dumbledore was saying, his voice resolute.

There was a long silence, and when Dumbledore spoke again, Tom realized that only Dumbledore himself could be overheard through the portrait.

"Yes, Minerva, I understand that," Dumbledore said, his voice softened. "And you know that you are always welcome to ask for my assistance. I am, after all, sworn to assist all future Headmasters and Headmistresses. But I have already failed the boy once. Now that I have, against all odds, been given another chance, I am determined to take it."

There was another silence, and Tom, bewildered, wondered who they were talking about. They clearly weren't talking about him, but then who _were_ they discussing? And why now, of all times?

At last Dumbledore spoke again. "Excellent," he said, sounding pleased. "I assure you, you won't regret this."

The conversation sounded as though it was closed, and Tom hurriedly backed away from the portrait so that McGonagall wouldn't realize he'd been listening in to the conversation.

When Professor McGonagall returned to her main office several moments later, her lips were pursed and her expression showed that she was clearly unhappy about something.

"This is for you," she said curtly, and handed Tom a small picture frame, face-down.

Hesitantly, Tom took it and turned it over. It was a miniature portrait of Dumbledore, and he was smiling up at Tom.

"There's no need to look so surprised, my boy," Dumbledore said cheerfully from the frame, eyes twinkling merrily. "Minerva has kindly agreed to loan this portrait of mine to you for as long as you are a Hogwarts student."

"See that you take good care of it, Potter," Professor McGonagall added sternly. "This is the only small portrait of Professor Dumbledore that exists. All the others are far too large and unwieldy to be kept anywhere but firmly fixed on a wall."

"But…why?" Tom stammered. His mind was racing frantically. Clearly, it was whether or not to give him this portrait that Dumbledore and McGonagall had been discussing. But then he must have been the boy they were referring to – and that made no sense at all!

"Professor Dumbledore will explain," McGonagall said brusquely, gathering up a pile of papers on her desk and tapping them against the hard wooden surface to straighten them. She did not look at Tom. "You have until the last day of the term to prove Medusa's innocence. If you fail to convince me that Medusa should be allowed to remain, you will bring her home with you for the Holidays and leave her there. You are dismissed."

Tom stared at Professor McGonagall, still confused and somewhat shaken; why was McGonagall suddenly acting so coldly towards him? And why had Dumbledore insisted that he be given the portrait? Tom glanced down at the frame, and Dumbledore smiled back cheerfully. "We'd best be going, Tom," he said. "I'll explain once you find someplace private; I'd rather that no one else becomes aware of this portrait's existence."

Fawkes, who had been perched on his stand across the room, suddenly spread his wings and soared towards them. Lightly, Fawkes brushed past Tom so that just the tips of his wings grazed the side of Tom's face. A moment later, Fawkes was again on his own side of the room and perched on his stand, still and silent.

"Well?" Professor McGonagall said sharply, looking up from her papers to pin Tom with a glare that was unusually stern, even for her.

Clutching the portrait of Dumbledore in one hand, his mind a whirlwind of confusion, Tom fled from the room.


	9. Chapter Eight: Dumbledore's Portrait

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N: - PLEASE READ:** This chapter was getting way too long, so I split it into two chapters, and I am posting the first half now. The second, MUCH longer half, will be posted very shortly. (The next chapter is more than double the length of this one.) Sorry for the crazy amount of time this took; this was partly because this chapter was/is so long, but also because I've been so, so busy with full-time college and almost full-time working. Plus, I've been spending a lot of time recently working on my original novel as well. You'll be getting the next chapter within the next week or two, and hopefully the chapter after that in some more reasonable time frame, but at the worst, I'll have the summer to write (hopefully!) lots of chapters as a backlog.

As always, all comments, questions, suggestions, and constructive criticism are very welcome. Special thanks to those who sent me encouraging comments over the long break! You definitely helped spur me on.

* * *

**_  
Chapter Eight – Dumbledore's Portrait_**

Tom stumbled off the spiraling staircase – narrowly avoiding a collision with one of the stone gargoyles – and broke into a run. His roommates were no doubt still in the Great Hall, and would be heading directly to class after breakfast, which meant that his dormitory would be empty. At least, Tom fervently hoped so. Meeting Kenneth now would be a disaster, as Tom knew he couldn't trust himself to keep his temper, and he couldn't bear the thought of facing any of his other roommates, either.

The rough stone walls of the dungeon passageways sped past. Tom was grateful for those extra hours he'd spent memorizing the way back to the Slytherin common room; otherwise he would have surely made a wrong turning somewhere in his haste, and the last thing Tom wanted now was a delay. The sooner he reached his dorm, the sooner he could ply Dumbledore's portrait with his many questions. Even more important, Medusa would be able to explain what had really happened, why Kenneth's accusations hadn't set off the falsehood indicators – and Tom's only hope was that her explanation would give him some way to prove her innocence.

To Tom's relief, his dormitory was indeed empty, and as he burst into the room and shut the door behind him, Medusa raised her head from where she was coiled on top of his trunk.

"What iss wrong, Tom?" she asked with evident concern. "You ssmell anxiouss."

"McGonagall wants to send you home," Tom said, his voice unsteady as the full miserable weight of the situation finally hit him at last. "She told me that one of my roommates – it must have been Kenneth – accused you of threatening him. I only have until the Holidays to prove that you're innocent!"

"Kenneth? Iss that the boy who triess to ssearch through your trunk whenever he iss alone in the room?"

"He's gone through my trunk?" Tom was shocked out of his despair.

"He tried to do sso, but he did not ssucceed. As ssoon as I approached, he ran away. But he was perssisstent, oh yesss. Four times he approached your trunk and used hiss wand to open it, though it wass easy to chase him away. Yessterday I began ssleeping on your trunk whenever you are not present in order to guard it."

Tom clenched his hands. "That must be why he didn't set off the truth-detection alarms – because you were threatening him – but you were doing it for a good reason, and you would never _hurt_ him!"

"Of coursse not." Medusa uncoiled herself further. "You assked me not to harm any student. Would I ever ignore your requesstss?"

"I know," Tom said glumly. "But McGonagall isn't going to believe your word over Kenneth's, not when the alarms didn't go off. I'm going to have to prove it, somehow. And I have less than two weeks!" He looked down at the portrait he was still gripping tightly. At the moment, it was nothing but an empty frame. "If not for Professor Dumbledore, McGonagall would have sent you home right away."

"Professsor Dumbledore? But he iss dead! It was three ssummerss ago, I remember it clearly. Your father was disstraught – though he found ssome comfort in the fact that Dumbledore died peacefully. What iss the meaning of thiss, that he helped you?"

"His portrait helped me," Tom explained. "In fact, he even asked McGonagall to give me a portrait of him, a miniature one – I have no idea why." Tom glanced down at the frame in his hand, and this time, he found Dumbledore peering out from the edge of the frame.

"Are we somewhere private?" Dumbledore inquired.

Automatically, Tom glanced around the room. No one had suddenly appeared, of course, but it was possible – if unlikely – that one of his roommates would show up to retrieve some forgotten book or homework assignment.

His eyes lit upon his bed, with its heavy green and silver curtains, and the obvious idea immediately presented itself to him. "In just a minute," he told Professor Dumbledore.

"Iss that Professsor Dumbledore's portrait?" Medusa raised her head farther and leaned over to try to view the painting, but the frame was empty again.

"I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore," Tom explained to Medusa quickly in Parseltongue. "And then I have to run to class, before I'm late. But tonight we'll figure out some way to convince McGonagall that you'd never hurt a student - and I hope that Dumbledore will be able to give me some advice. Is that okay?"

"Of coursse," Medusa hissed reassuringly, and she curled up again into her basking position, rearranging herself so that she was in the direct path of the firelight from the nearest wall-torch.

Wasting no time, Tom kicked off his shoes and clambered onto his bed. He drew the heavy bed curtains completely closed, and propped up the portrait against his pillow as his eyes adjusted to the gloom.

Tom watched as Professor Dumbledore settled down in his ornate, high-backed chair, and smiled cheerfully up at Tom. "Excellent, excellent," he said. "This certainly looks as though it is sufficiently private for our needs. Explanations first?"

Tom did not hesitate. "Why did you ask McGonagall to give me your portrait?" he asked, his curiosity spilling out in a rush despite his worry for Medusa.

"I was hoping for a change of scenery," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "Professor McGonagall's office is rather quiet these days. I have found myself dozing more frequently as of late, and I prefer to remain more fully awake for a little while longer."

Tom stared at Dumbledore with incredulity. "Do you expect me to believe that?" he asked. Then, belatedly realizing how disrespectful he'd sounded, he hastily added "Sir."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I will admit I have other motives as well, but I assure you that my desire for a less tedious existence does play a significant role in this decision."

"What are your other motives, then? Why _me_?"

"I find your life more interesting than you might think, Tom." Dumbledore's eyes were still twinkling, but his words were sober. "I observed your father closely throughout his childhood, and you are his oldest son. I am deeply interested in your welfare. But there is more to it than that." Dumbledore paused for a moment, gazing up at Tom with an unreadable expression his face. "As a Slytherin, your Head of House is Professor Snape. He is a superb teacher and a fine man, but he dislikes your father, and your father dislikes him in return. I fear that you will not feel comfortable approaching him if there are any issues you wish to discuss, and since I find myself with spare time on my hands all too frequently, I have decided to involve myself in your life."

Tom considered this. The explanation sounded reasonable enough but then why did he sense that Dumbledore was hiding something from him? "There are other students who don't get along with their Head of House." Tom pointed out.

"True," Professor Dumbledore acknowledged. "But you are Harry Potter's son, and you have been Sorted into Slytherin; I fear you will not find it easy to adjust to your House. I owe a tremendous debt to your father for his defeat of Voldemort, and so I find myself compelled to try to help his son."

"How can you help me 'adjust to Slytherin'?" Tom asked skeptically. "No offense, sir, but you're just a portrait, and you seem determined to be kept a secret."

"You might find my advice helpful," Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers. "I was Headmaster for a long while, and I daresay I have gathered some useful bits of knowledge amongst all the fluff." His eyes were twinkling again.

"Can you help me with Medusa, then?" Tom challenged. "How can I prove that she's innocent?"

Dumbledore's smile faded. "I am sorry, but this one time, I cannot help you. Professor McGonagall was adamant that I refrain from assisting you in this matter. She believes that with my aid, you would be able to prove Medusa's innocence even if she is, in fact, guilty."

Tom's resentment towards McGonagall flared. "When else will I _need_ your advice?" he said bitterly.

"Do not reject my years of experience so hastily, Tom," Dumbledore said, looking entirely serious now. "I made many mistakes in my years alive, and many of them exacted a terrible cost, but so many years of experience are certainly worthy of at least some regard. You may be young, but you are an intelligent young man, and I am sure you realize that life is not always easy. You may find yourself grateful for my advice, one day." He hesitated, then added, "And I will allow myself to offer you one suggestion." Dumbledore leaned forward in his throne-like chair. "I am not the only wizard – or _witch_ – whose advice and knowledge can be helpful. It was not me that your father relied on for his help in his years here at Hogwarts…."

Tom stared at Dumbledore. Suddenly, comprehension dawned on him, and he smiled in relief. "Of course!" he said. "I don't know why I didn't think of her right away. Thank you, sir."

"Anytime," Dumbledore said, smiling.

Hurriedly, Tom pulled open the curtains, clambered off the bed, and stashed the portrait at the very bottom of his trunk, taking care not to dislodge Medusa in the process. That accomplished, he pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and a self-inking quill. Hastily, he composed a letter to his Aunt Hermione, explaining the situation and pleading for her help.

As Tom sealed the letter and carried it up to the Owlery to post it, he felt some of his tension loosening. Hermione was brilliant at research – not to mention _far_ more experienced and knowledgeable than he was – and if he couldn't come up with a solution on his own, Hermione might very well be able to help him. Still, much of his anxiety remained; Hermione was always madly busy, and there was a real chance that she might not have the time to help him before McGonagall's deadline.

Over the next week, as Tom waited impatiently for the return of his letter, Tom spent hours in the library – sometimes with Jennifer helping him, sometimes on his own – feverishly doing his own searching for some method to prove that Kenneth had accused Medusa falsely. His biggest handicap was the fact that he was limited to potions and charms that were not forbidden to underage wizards or to Hogwarts students. After all, McGonagall would have to be shown both the method and the results, and so even bending the rules just the smallest bit was completely out of the question.

Truth serums, deceit indicators, hypnotism hexes… all were either illegal, or not nearly specific enough to be of any use, or could not be prepared within a few days – or all three. Tom was quickly growing very discouraged. Even if he _could_ find an appropriate spell or potion, would he be able to convince McGonagall to give him permission to use it on Kenneth? Hexing another student or slipping them a potion without their permission was – strictly speaking – against the rules.

"This is so frustrating!" Tom said to Jennifer yet again, slamming closed _another_ dusty tome. "There are so _many_ ways that I can get Kenneth to confess – but finding a way that McGonagall will approve of is _impossible_!"

"We still have a little while left," Jennifer reminded him. "There's no sense in giving up now."

"Of course I'm not going to just give up!" Tom roughly pulled another book from the top of a teetering pile. "If I have to, I'll find some way to… to blackmail him, or threaten him, to go confess to McGonagall on his own! I'm _not_ going to let him get away with this!"

"Relax, Tom!" Jennifer said, looking alarmed. "Don't talk like that! If he tells McGonagall that you've threatened him, you'll be in real trouble!"

"He wouldn't tell, not if I scared him badly enough," Tom muttered, but he subsided. He wouldn't _really_ do anything so drastic, not even to be able to keep Medusa here at Hogwarts – though it was tempting. Mum and Dad would be really, really upset if they found out, and even if they never did, Tom knew that he couldn't bring himself to do something that they would disapprove of so strongly.

But as the days passed, Tom's anxiety worsened – and his performance in class suffered as well. While this was a relief for his partners in Defense Against the Dark Arts – Tom was one of the few first-years who could actually manage a Stunning spell – his Professors grew concerned, and eventually, irritated. Even mild Professor Longbottom uttered a few sharp reprimands to "Pay attention, Potter!" and Professor Reid gave him his first-ever detention, depriving Tom of a night he sorely needed for his searching. Tom spent his next two Transfiguration classes glowering at Professor Reid, subsiding only when she threatened him with another detention. In Potions – usually one of Tom's best subjects – his lack of attention and carelessness resulted in an explosion that splattered across the room, sending three students to the hospital wing. Strangely, Snape didn't even yell at him, much less take off points or give him detention, but Tom couldn't even muster up the energy to spend much time wondering about this. Even in his worry-induced daze, though, Tom did manage to think that the way Snape ignored him so completely was very odd….

When Aunt Hermione's letter finally arrived, just five days before the end of term, Tom felt a rush of hope, the first he'd felt in days. He quickly glanced around to make sure that Kenneth was nowhere nearby, then ripped open the letter and read it eagerly.

_Dear Tom,_

_It was wonderful to hear from you, though of course I'm sorry that the circumstances are so unfortunate. Let me get straight to the point, as I haven't much time._

_As you may or may not have discovered, there are in fact a number of potions and hexes that would enable you to force a confession from Kenneth, though I cannot say how many of them can only be found in the Restricted Section of the library. However, Professor McGonagall would not approve of any of these methods, so those are not an option._

_My suggestion is as follows: find some way to goad Kenneth into admitting to you that he accused Medusa falsely, and then ask Professor McGonagall to use her Pensieve to view your memory of his confession. I know she owns one; Professor Dumbledore left it to her when he died._

_Good luck! Let me know what happens._

_Love,_

_Aunt Hermione_

"Brilliant!" Tom said aloud, barely noticing the strange looks that some of the other Slytherins were sending his way. He stood up and dashed downstairs to his dorm to hide the letter, giddy with relief – and half-angry at himself for not having thought of this on his own.


	10. Chapter Nine: Penseive and Memories

**Author's Notes**: This chapter gave me major writer's block; half a year of it, nearly, if you consider the fact that the previous chapter was originally the first half of this chapter. Hopefully now I'll be able to move on and write much more quickly, especially now that it's nearly summer, and I'll have much more free time. Feedback would be especially appreciated for this chapter, first because it includes a flashback, and I've never written a flashback before. I'd like to know if you feel that the flashback fitted in smoothly to the flow of the story, because I do want to write more about Tom and his family, and I'm not sure whether to do that just with letters and holiday visits or if I should also include another flashback or two eventually. In addition, I'm not so confident about the way I've written Mum!Ginny (or Dad!Harry, for that matter). Constructive criticism, suggestions, comments, and questions are all very welcome.

* * *

**_Chapter Nine – Penseive and Memories_**

As it turned out, though, matters weren't quite so simple. Extracting the confession from Kenneth turned out to be far more difficult than Tom had anticipated.

Tom's first try was a dismal failure. After morning classes, he had noticed Kenneth heading back to the dorm instead of going directly to the Great Hall for lunch. Tom had followed silently, careful to keep his distance so that Kenneth wouldn't notice him.

As Kenneth approached the entrance to the Slytherin common room and gave the password, Tom hurried to catch up, and he slipped through the opening just before it closed. Kenneth turned around, and when he saw that it was Tom who was behind him, he took a step back.

"Why did you accuse Medusa of threatening you?" Tom demanded.

A flash of fear showed in Kenneth's eyes, but it was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. "I have no idea what you're talking about," Kenneth said coolly, and turned around to head to their dorm.

"Don't try to pretend it wasn't you!" Tom said, his temper flaring. "You're the only one in our room who's scared of Medusa, and you'd love to make my life miserable!"

"I am _not_ scared of your snake!" Kenneth said, whirling around to face Tom, his hands clenched into fists.

"You don't expect me to believe that, do you?" Tom said contemptuously. "You avoid Medusa as though she's been contaminated by a deadly potion! But that doesn't mean you can accuse Medusa of attacking you and get away with it. Medusa wouldn't go _near_ you!"

Kenneth's eyes flashed in obvious anger. "I am _not_ scared of snakes!" he said again. "And I – " He stopped in mid-sentence and clamped his mouth shut. With one last furious glare at Tom, he spun around and stomped off.

A second attempt, later that day, was met by a similar failure. Tom cornered Kenneth the next morning to try yet again, but this time Kenneth interrupted him before Tom even had a chance to open his mouth.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Kenneth said angrily. "I know you're trying to get me to confess to something – but I haven't done anything wrong." And for the rest of the day, he ignored Tom completely.

While this had its definite benefits – the lack of snide insults was certainly a relief – this new development only increased Tom's frustration and anxiety. Clearly, Kenneth was too clever to be goaded into admitting what he'd done. Now what?

By the next day, Tom could no longer concentrate properly on his classes. There were only three days left to the term, and proving Medusa's innocence seemed impossible.

At lunch, Tom glumly pushed his meat around on his plate and tried to imagine what Hogwarts would be like without Medusa. He sat alone; Jennifer was sitting with Adam at the Hufflepuff table, but today Tom was in no mood for being surrounded by cheerful chatter.

Halfway through the meal, Julian slid into the sit across from Tom, his breathing labored. "Snape made me stay behind to clean up the explosion I made in Potions," he explained ruefully. "Without magic, of course – not that I know the proper spells yet anyway."

Tom mustered up a sympathetic expression. "At least he didn't give you detention."

"This was just as bad." Julian grimaced. "The potion had already been absorbed into the desks and floor; I had to scrub it out. My hands are all red." He held up them out to demonstrate. "They hurt, too." Julian gingerly flexed his hands. "Do you know how long it will take to heal? Should I go to Madam Pomfrey?"

Despite his gloom, Tom almost laughed. "Your hands will be fine in a few minutes, or at most a few hours – don't worry."

"If you say so…." Julian looked doubtful, but he pulled a nearby platter next to his plate and served himself.

They ate in silence for several minutes, and Tom quickly withdrew again into his unhappy thoughts.

"What's wrong?" Julian asked suddenly.

Tom looked up, startled.

"I noticed that you weren't taking notes in class," Julian explained, "and you look upset about something."

Tom met Julian's eyes. Julian looked honestly curious, and a bit concerned, but Tom hesitated, unsure whether it was safe to confide in him. Julian and Kenneth still weren't speaking to each other, but they'd been friends for so long….

"Never mind," Julian said stiffly, and turned away from Tom, his face closed off. "I didn't mean to be intrusive."

Tom felt a rush of guilt. Could Kenneth tell that Tom still didn't really trust him? "Medusa is going to be sent home," he blurted out before he had a chance to think about it.

Julian looked back at Tom, clearly surprised. "Didn't you say that McGonagall gave you permission to bring her?"

"She did. But Kenneth went to McGonagall and accused Medusa of threatening him, so now McGonagall says she can't stay."

Julian looked puzzled. "Why did Medusa threaten Kenneth?"

"She didn't!" Tom stabbed his fork into his meat. "Kenneth was trying to poke around in my trunk, and Medusa just scared him away, but Kenneth's claiming that Medusa has been trying to attack him! Kenneth hates me, and he hates Medusa – he's terrified of her – so he figures that this is the perfect way to get back at me and get rid of Medusa. But McGonagall doesn't believe me. She gave me just until the Holidays to prove that Medusa is innocent, and I still haven't come up with a solution that will actually work!"

"Why don't you just slip him some sort of truth potion?" Julian asked, and to Tom's surprise, he seemed genuinely sympathetic.

"Against the rules," Tom said glumly. "And using a truth serum would only prove Medusa's innocence if he admitted what he did in front of Professor McGonagall, and there's no truth potion that I could've made in such a short amount of time that wouldn't make it very obvious that the victim was under some sort of compulsion to tell the truth. Same for hexes. McGonagall would've been furious that I'd broken the rules, and she probably would've sent Medusa home anyway."

"Then how can McGonagall possibly expect you to prove that Medusa didn't do anything wrong?" Julian said indignantly. "That isn't fair!"

"Of course it isn't." Tom stabbed another piece of meat. "McGonagall was acting really strange. At first she seemed nice, and sympathetic, but by the time she sent me out of her office, she was treating me almost as if I had been the one threatening Kenneth!"

"Never expect a Gryffindor to be fair to a Slytherin," Julian said darkly.

Tom immediately felt defensive. "That's because no Slytherin would be fair to a Gryffindor," he protested. "And besides, according to my father, when McGonagall was the Transfiguration Professor, she actually _was_ very fair, even to Slytherins. Unlike Professor Snape, who definitely favors Slytherins and hates Gryffindors."

"That's what your father says – of course he'd think well of his Head of House," Julian pointed out. "And she's not being fair now, is she?"

"But Kenneth is also a Slytherin," Tom protested. "Why would she favor _him_? If anything, she'd favor me, because my family is all Gryffindor!"

"Well, what happened to change her mood, then?" Julian asked, frowning.

Tom opened his mouth, about to explain the strange conversation he'd overheard, but just in time he realized that there was no way he could explain without revealing to Julian that he had Dumbledore's portrait – and Tom had promised to keep that a secret. Dad always said that Dumbledore had ways of knowing everything about everyone – and Tom didn't want to risk Dumbledore's finding out that he'd already broken his promise.

"I'm not sure," Tom said instead, and hurried to change the subject. "My aunt Hermione gave me a really brilliant idea, though – I just wish I could make it work!"

"What was the idea?"

"Well, McGonagall has a Pensieve, so my aunt suggested that I somehow goad Kenneth into admitting what he did – just to me, with no one else around to hear him – and then show McGonagall my memory of his admission. But Kenneth is too suspicious of me to fall for that. The more I try, the more he clams up – which makes sense, of course – but by now he's certain that I'm up to something, so there's no chance that he'll admit _anything_ to me." Tom sawed at his meat, cutting it into ever-smaller pieces. "That means that my aunt's idea is useless, so unless I come up with a brilliant idea of my own within the next day or so, Medusa will be sent back home." He jabbed his fork into a potato, his fingers clenched so tightly around the metal that it dug into the palm of his hand. "He may have the advantage now, backed by so many Slytherins who hate me, but someday, somehow, Kenneth will regret making me his enemy." His voice sounded strange to his own ears – almost vicious – and he made a conscious effort to relax, to take a deep breath and loosen his grip on his fork.

"Spoken like a true Slytherin," Julian said approvingly. "I must admit I had my doubts about you, but no one can possibly deny that you belong with us here."

Tom closed his eyes, his stomach clenching in dismay and shame. His father would be horrified to hear him sounding so vindictive – so _Slytherin_ – and Julian's words felt like a condemnation, not praise. How many times had he heard Uncle Ron, and Fred and George – and even Mum and Dad – speaking bitterly of Slytherins? Of Deatheaters, and of Voldemort, and even of the more ordinary spite of Slytherin students?

Misery welled up in place of his anger, overwhelming him. When he came back from the Holidays, Medusa would no longer be here, leaving him to face his hostile Housemates alone. Professor Snape, his Head of House, was still ignoring him completely, and McGonagall, the Headmistress of Hogwarts, seemed to dislike him now as well. And in the future was the all-too likely possibility that eventually, living among Slytherins for so long, he might become a Slytherin himself. Had he already started to change without realizing it? Would Mum and Dad notice over the Holidays?

An old memory resurfaced, vivid as ever despite all he had done to try to forget it. It had been two years ago – when he was only nine - but he could still remember every moment of that awful day. And it had begun so well….

_"Excellent work," Professor Lupin said, smiling a rare smile as he looked up from grading Tom's essay. "That will be all for today. I promised Jamie that we'd do some maths today; he's quite eager to know how to calculate Quidditch-related statistics, it seems."_

_Tom, who had been waiting all morning for the end of their session, let the news spill from him in an excited rush. "I finished the project!" he said. "Dad said he'd charm it for me so that it doesn't ever get ruined, but I need you to look at it first, and tell me if there's anything I need to fix."_

_"Wonderful!" Professor Lupin said. "I have been impatiently awaiting the unveiling. Would you like to go fetch it now?"_

_Tom nodded, and dashed off to his room, his excitement and anticipation building, overflowing. He had been working on this project for almost half a year now, spending countless nights researching, using any text he could find about the famous, ancient buildings he had chosen to focus on – and then countless further nights shaping a miniature, accurate replica for each building. And meanwhile, of course, he'd been researching the potions and spells needed to make the buildings come to life. He'd made the potions himself, under Professor Lupin's supervision, and Mum had done the spells for him, since he didn't have a wand. But he had had to know exactly what spells to use, and tell Mum exactly what to do; she had only done exactly as he'd told her, even when she knew he was messing up. Tom winced, remembering one particularly loud and messy mistake. But now he was finally – finally! – finished._

_Tom dashed up the last few steps and ran down the hall. He skidded to a halt outside his bedroom door, noticing his open bedroom door with only a bit of surprise; on occasion he did forget to close it, after all, and it was always possible that for some reason Dobby had entered his room by means of the door instead of with magic._

_Heart beating in excitement, Tom hurried through the door – and stopped short in dismay. The door to his work area was ajar - and Tom clearly remembered closing it securely just before he'd gone downstairs to breakfast and lessons. Anxiety mounting, Tom rushed across the rest of the room and thrust the door open - but nothing could have prepared him for the scene that met his eyes._

_The project was completely ruined. Mashed lumps of clay were everywhere, broken glass littered the floor, and the miniature plants had all been uprooted, their dirt and leaves mixed in with the rest of the debris. Several shards of wood and glass were flailing weakly, but the rest lay perfectly inert. The destruction was far beyond the power of a Reparo to fix, and for several interminable moments, Tom stared at the ruins of his project, his stomach clenching in utter disbelief and horror._

_A flash of red hair bolted across the edge of his vision, and Tom swung around to find his five year old sister, Lily, fleeing towards the door. Dirt and clay covered her clothing, and she looked terrified and guilty._

_Tom darted after Lily and grabbed her by the arm, gripping her tightly. "You?" he said in shock._

_"You never let me help," Lily wailed. "I always ask you, an' you always say, maybe another day, but you never let me! An' you ruined my dollhouse to use for your stupid buildings, an' you always yell at me, an' Mummy sent me to my room all morning cause I hit you, an' I didn't get to play with Molly! An' you're the meanest brother! _

_Rage flared up so strongly in Tom that he could barely speak. "You – you –" he sputtered, and he shook her so hard that that she burst into tears. _

_"You're hurting me! Let me go!" Lily wailed, but as Tom swung around again to survey the damage, his anger only flared up more strongly. _

_"You ruined it!" Tom said furiously, shaking her again. "I worked on this for months! MONTHS!"_

_"It's your fault!" Lily shouted. "You shouldn't be so mean! An' you ruined my dollhouse!"_

_"Who cares about your stupid dollhouse!" Tom said angrily. "Mum can get you a new one, I needed the parts, and you never play with it, anyway! And that's not a good reason to ruin all my hard work!"_

_"Yes it is!" Lily shouted, and Tom slapped her, hard, across her face._

_Lily stared at him in shock, her cheek white and her lower lip trembling, and then she rushed at him, pummeling him with her fists._

_Tom grabbed her arms and pinned them together, then hit her again with his free hand, and then again. "You're a little monster," he snarled, so angry he could barely think. "I hate you!" Lily was kicking him, twisting and crying, and he tightened his grip on her. "Don't ever come near my room again! You're the worst sister in the world! You deserve to be fed to a dragon!"_

_"Muuuumyyyy!" Lily shrieked, redoubling her efforts to break free. Somehow she managed to get her hands loose, and suddenly she was flailing her arms and legs, kicking him and yelling at the top of her lungs._

_Tom clamped a hand over her mouth and dragged her, still struggling, to the doorway of his room. "Stay out!" he said, through clenched teeth. "And if you tell Mum I hit you, I'll show her what you did to my project – she'll ground you for a month! You won't be able to play with any of your friends! Not with Molly, or with Jane, or with Gabrielle! And Mummy will tell everyone what a bad girl you are!"_

_He dropped Lily to the ground outside his room, but instead of running away, she scrambled to her feet and attacked him, punching and kicking. "You're the meanest brother!" she shouted. "I hate you! And I am so going to tell Mummy that you hit me!" She turned and dashed down the hallway, yelling "Mummy! Mummy!" with ear-splitting shrieks._

_Alarmed, Tom dashed after his sister and grabbed her, clamping his hand over her mouth yet again. "No you won't!" he said, and looked around desperately, trying to come up with some way of keeping her quiet. His eyes lit upon the staircase down the hall, the old, rickety staircase which led upstairs to the never-used, windowless attic. It was full of old furniture and clothes and mounds of boxes, but it was also the residence of a particularly loud ghoul – and so Mum and Dad had cast a very thorough silencing charm on the entire attic. _

_"Perfect," Tom said aloud, grimly, and with no further hesitation, he dragged Lily down the hall, one hand still clamped over her mouth, and then up the stairs, bumping and clattering with each step as Lily desperately tried to escape._

_To Tom's relief, he reached the attic door without anyone coming to see what the noise was all about. Dad was away at work, of course, and Jamie was outdoors, flying, and Mum was probably downstairs, with the baby, too far away to hear much of anything. Dobby was the only one to worry about – but he was probably out on an errand for Mum, or cleaning up somewhere downstairs._

_Tom turned the key in the lock and shoved open the door, revealing the dusty, cluttered gloom of the attic. Lily's attempts to escape were growing even more frantic now, but Tom ignored her, and dragged her through the dark to the opposite end of the attic, where an old, half-broken wardrobe stood, filled with old, musty clothes. Tom looked around uncertainly, trying to decide exactly what to do with his sister, when suddenly she bit down, hard, on the hand that was covering her mouth._

_"OW!" Tom yelled, and he hastily pulled his hand away. Immediately her screams burst forth._

_"Let me go let me go let me go!" she shrieked. "I'm going to tell Mummy!"_

_"Just try it!" Tom said, flush with renewed anger and vindictive triumph. "I'm locking you up in here and leaving you in the dark, all alone except for the spiders and the ghoul! And no one will know you're missing for hours and hours, because it's past lunchtime! And you're safe here, and you're not even lost, because I know where you are, so Mum's watch won't even beep!"_

_Lily's eyes widened in terror, and even in the dark, Tom could see that her face had turned pale. "You're leaving me here?" she said, in horror-struck tones._

_"You deserve it!" Tom said. "You broke my project! You ruined all my work!"_

_Lily stared at him in horror for a moment, then suddenly burst forth again with her yelling. "Mummy! Daddy! Dobby!" she yelled._

_Tom dashed across the attic towards the door. He reached it and swung around to slam it behind him. Lily was running desperately towards him, yelling, her eyes wide in fear, but he slammed the door in her face and turned the key in the lock, and immediately, total silence descended upon the narrow staircase. He saw the door shaking, and he could almost see Lily throwing herself against it, freckles stark against her white face. But another image was stronger – the image of her standing defiantly among the rubble of his project – and with another surge of anger, he turned away from the door and sprinted down the staircase, back into the sunlight and the comfort of the main house. Outside his bedroom door he paused, dreading the idea of even looking at the wreckage, but he forced himself to enter, hoping against all hope that some small part of it would be salvageable._

_But the destruction was complete, entirely beyond repair. Now that Lily was no longer present, his anger could not sustain itself, and as it faded, his stomach clenched into a tight knot, so tight that he felt sick. Five and a half months… weeks and weeks… days and nights of patient, careful work, of research and sculpting and building and asking Mum and Dad for help with the magic, weeks of mixing potions to create the right effects and colors…. And it was all gone._

_Tom shut the door to his room and stood just outside it for several long minutes, leaning against the wall, furiously blinking his eyes against the burning. When he had composed himself at last, he gathered his resolve and plodded back downstairs to Professor Lupin._

_"Is something wrong?" Professor Lupin asked, a look of alarm on his face, as soon as he saw Tom. He stood up from behind his desk, dropping his quill and leaving a smear of ink all across his papers, and took a step towards Tom. "Did something happen? Where's your project?"_

_"It's – it's not ready yet," Tom said, avoiding Professor Lupin's eyes. "I'll go get Jamie, for his lesson – he's been outside on his broom all morning." And without giving Professor Lupin a chance to protest, he hurried out of the room and down the hall._

_"Tom?" Mum called from the kitchen. "I heard Lily yelling just now. Can you go check up on her? She isn't in any danger – it's probably just a temper tantrum, she's been upset all morning – but she sounded like she was calling for me."_

_Tom desperately tried to keep his voice steady. "She's fine," he called back. "She was…." His mind raced, trying to come up with a story that would keep Mum from becoming suspicious, a story that would give him some sort of excuse…. Suddenly, he was hit with inspiration. "She wanted to play in the attic," he said in rush. "But I told her it was too dangerous, and she got angry at me. Should I go up and lock the attic door, to make sure she can't get in?" _

_"Thanks so much, Tom," Mum said gratefully._

_Feeling only a twinge of shame at misleading his mum, Tom sprinted down the hallway and up the stairs to the first floor and then to the attic. He paused outside the attic door for just a moment – the door was motionless now, Lily must have given up – and then hurriedly clattered back downstairs. Outside his room he paused, and after a moment's hesitation, he darted inside to grab a book, averting his eyes from the still-open door to his workroom. Clutching the book in his hand, he ran down the hall to the steep, narrow staircase which led directly to the back-door entryway. He walked down these stairs slowly and cautiously, doing his best to make no noise at all; the very last thing he wanted was Mum asking him more questions about Lily. _

_To Tom's relief, he made it outside into the gardens safely. "Jamie!" he called to the broomstick hovering high above. "Professor Lupin's waiting for you!"_

_He watched to be sure that Jamie had heard him, to see that the broomstick was descending, and then – with a sudden return of misery and wretchedness as his adrenaline began to wear off – he stumbled across the yard towards the forest, still clutching his book. From a distance, he heard Jamie calling in bewilderment, "Tom? Where did you go?" and he broke into a run, cracking off twigs and leaves as he fled his brother and the bright sunlight and the cheerful house and his wreckage-littered room. _

_When Tom at last reached the rocky outcropping, he was out of breath. He had no desire to venture out into the clearing, to sit on the sun-warmed boulders or patches of grassy dirt. Instead, he turned off the path and circled around to the other side of the clearing, to a half-hidden crevice in the stony ground which opened up into a small, dimly lit cave. It was Medusa who had shown it to him – she had lived here, in this rocky outcropping, before Dad had found her – and she had promised not to tell Dad about it. This was where Tom went when he wanted to be alone, and as Tom lowered himself down into the chilly cave and then curled up in a corner of the cave with his book, he tried to forget everything that had happened, to force his mind to concentrate on the words in front of him. It helped that the book was really interesting, about the origins of the Decree Against the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, and some of the funnier stories made Tom wonder if Fred and George had gotten hold of this book when they were still kids…. _

_When Tom reached the end of the book at last and snapped it shut, he found himself jerked back to reality. His neck and back hurt, and his hands and feet were chilled through. Worse, though, was the knot of misery that was growing again in his stomach. It almost seemed like a bad dream, a nightmare, but he knew it was real – that his models were gone forever, and that Lily – he forced down another flash of fury – was still locked up in the attic….. _

_But he couldn't stay in this cave any longer. He had to go back to the house, to pretend to find Lily, to convince his mum and dad that locking her up had been an accident…. If only he could do a memory charm on Lily!_

_Tom groped his way across the little cave and hauled himself up, out into the open. The daylight was a welcome relief, and Tom hurriedly checked his watch. Half-past one; that meant he'd been gone for nearly two hours! Had Mum already realized that Lily was missing? Alarmed, Tom set off at a run through the trees._

_When Tom reached the yard, the house looming before him, he slowed down. He was suddenly afraid. If Mum and Dad believed Lily instead of him…. But he couldn't stay outdoors forever. Gripping his book tightly, he opened the back door of the house and walked inside._

_The house was eerily quiet. No baby crying, no shouts, no voices…. Somewhat surprised, Tom padded through the house, checking all the main rooms. No one in the living room, the dining room, the kitchen, the office, the library…. As Tom headed upstairs, he tried to quash his feelings of unease._

_When he reached the top of the main staircase, Tom heard a muffled voice coming from down the hall. He frowned. It sounded like Dad's voice – but Dad was still at work!_

_Tom hurried in the direction of the voice, following it to the closed door of Lily's room – and now Dad's voice was unmistakable, though Tom couldn't quite make out what he was saying. Tom's throat suddenly felt dry. Why was Dad home in middle of the day?_

_Tom paused, his anxiety mounting. He was half-ready to bolt back outdoors – but Dad called through the door, "Tom? Is that you?" _

_Dad's voice was as serious as Tom had ever heard it, and Tom's nerve almost broke – but running away now would just prove that he was guilty. He took a deep breath and tried to sound as normal as possible. "Yes, Dad?" Tom called, and pushed open the door to Lily's room._

_The sight that met his eyes boded him no good. Lily was sitting between Mum and Dad on her bed, her face blotchy with tears, still hiccupping. Mom and Dad were looking at him with expressions as grave as Tom had ever seen. Tom swallowed, and tried not to let his anxiety show on his face._

_"Mum, Dad? What's wrong? Why is Lily crying?"_

_Mum and Dad exchanged quick, unreadable glances, and then Dad turned back to Tom. "We were hoping to hear your explanation, Tom," Dad said quietly._

_"I… I have no idea why she's crying!" Tom said, mustering up an expression of confusion; the worry came naturally. "I've been out of the house, reading, for hours!" He held up his book for emphasis._

_At this, Lily burst out into another round of tears. "He's – he's lying!" she sobbed. "He l-l-locked me up in'a attic!"_

_Mum quickly drew her into her lap and hugged her. "Shhh," she said. "Don't worry, we're going to find out what really happened."_

_Dad picked up Lily's hand and squeezed it, then turned to Tom, his expression grim. "We discovered that Lily was missing an hour ago, Tom," he said. "We've only just found her. We didn't look in the attic until the very end, because it was locked from the outside, and Mum told me that you had so responsibly locked it for her. When we did look in the attic at last, and found Lily, at first we assumed that Lily must have snuck in without you realizing it, and that you had locked her inside accidentally. But Lily has been telling us a very different – and very disturbing – story."_

_"You hit me!" Lily declared, twisting around to glare at Tom, her face still red and wet from tears. "An' then you dragged me up t' the attic an' locked me up! An' I shouted an' shouted, an' nobody h-h-heard me!"_

_"Is that true, Tom?" Dad asked quietly, pinning him with his gaze. "When we searched the house, we found your destroyed project in your room, and Lily has admitted that she was the one who did it – and that it was because she ruined your project that you hit her and locked her up. Is that true, Tom?"_

_Tom desperately tried to come up with something, anything, some way to extricate himself from this mess, but still trapped by his father's gaze, he floundered. "She smashed it!" he burst out at last. "On purpose! For no reason! And I worked on it for months and months! And she wasn't even sorry!"_

_"And so you hit your sister?" Dad stood up, his mouth tightening dangerously. "Your five-year-old sister, Tom? You locked her up in attic, all alone, terrifying her so badly that when we found her she was in hysterics, and couldn't be comforted for a good half hour?" _

_"But she smashed my project!" Tom defended himself, desperately. "She smashed it to pieces, and she didn't care! She ruined it! She deserved it!"_

_Mum stood up as well, holding Lily. She looked at him for several long moments, expression grave. "Your sister is only five years old, Tom! I understand that you must have been terribly upset – and you had very good reason to be – but even that is not an excuse for terrifying her so badly. And you deliberately deceived me, lied to me, in order to prevent Lily from being found! This might very well give Lily nightmares for months. Can you expect us to trust you anymore?"_

_"Your privileges as the oldest child are hereby revoked," Dad said, his jaw set and his mouth a tight line. "Your bedtime will be at seven, like Jamie's. No allowance. You will no longer be allowed to visit the cousins on your own. You must ask Mum before you go outside. And you will stay home with the rest of the children when we go to the Halloween party next week."_

_"When you have proven to us that you can be trusted again, we will reconsider whether you deserve these privileges," Mum added, her expression still severe. _

_Tom looked from Mum to Dad and then back to Mum. It was the disappointment in their eyes that made Tom suddenly turn and bolt away, desperate to escape. _

_Tom expected Mum or Dad to call after him, to tell him to stop, but no voice came, and he dashed to his room and shut the door behind him. He noticed, dully, that his workroom had been cleaned, and with quick steps he hurried to the open door and pulled it shut, unable to bear the sight of the empty table in the middle of the room. He threw himself on his bed and pulled his pillow over his head, and tried his best to think of absolutely nothing at all._

_Tom could get no sense of how much time was passing – but later, much later, he heard footsteps outside his room, and his parents voices, and he pulled the blanket up over him and lay as still as possible. His parents pushed open the door and came in._

_"He's sleeping," Mum whispered. Footsteps approached his bed, and a cool hand – Mum's – stroked his hair._

_"I hope we made an impression on him," Dad said, his voice low and grave._

_"For all we know we've just made things worse," Mum said, and she drew a great shuddering gasp._

_"Ginny?" Dad said, sounding alarmed and worried, and suddenly Mum was sobbing. _

_Tom felt his stomach clench. Mum was crying? Because of him? He couldn't remember ever seeing his Mum cry before._

_"What's wrong, Ginny?" Dad asked softly._

_"Tom was – he was such a Slytherin, today!"_

_"Tom will be just fine," Dad said quietly. "I trust him. He's still young; he hasn't yet learned self-control. But he's a good boy. As he gets older, I'm sure he'll learn to subdue his Slytherin impulses. He knows we love him."_

_"I hope you're right," Mum said, her voice wavering. "It was just – such a shock! Tom is so mature, and such a big help, usually! And I'm worried about Lily – I'm sure she'll have nightmares, Harry! – but I'm even more worried about Tom. About his… his Slytherin impulses. He's so quiet… sometimes I wonder what's going through his head. You don't think he'll be Sorted into Slytherin, do you?"_

_"It's too soon to worry about that," Dad said firmly. "And even if he is Sorted into Slytherin, I'm sure he'll be fine. Tom will know better than to let himself be influenced by his surroundings. Today he let his temper get the better of him, but he's still young. He knows the difference between right and wrong."_

_"I hope you're right, Harry," Mum said softly, and then the bed creaked and Tom felt her kiss him on the forehead. Her face was wet – from tears, Tom realized another clench of his stomach._

_Several long minutes passed before Mum and Dad rose from the bed, and Tom listened as their footsteps made their way across the floor and the door swung shut behind them._

"Are you okay?" Julian's alarmed voice broke into Tom's thoughts. "You look really pale, and you – your eyes looked all funny for a while there. Are you sick?"

Disoriented, Tom stared at Julian for several moments in confusion before vigorously shaking his head. "Just a bad memory," he mumbled, and stared down at the shredded food on his plate.

"Are you sure there's nothing else you can do to try to prove that Medusa didn't do anything wrong?" Julian ventured after a minute or two.

It was a moment before Tom could remember what they had been talking about, but then he shook his head. "The Penseive idea is the only one that has any chance of working," he said, listlessly. "And Kenneth is too suspicious of me to be tricked into confessing." Tom closed his eyes, wishing he could stay in bed for the rest of the day and pretend he was still at home.

"Maybe… maybe I can help," Julian said hesitantly.

Tom opened his eyes, startled and disbelieving. "How?"

"Kenneth might confess what he did to me, if I manage to convince him that I've changed my mind about you…."

Tom stared at Julian, sudden hope budding. "Would you really do that for me?" he said, astonished.

Julian quickly glanced up and down the long table, then turned to Tom and nodded. "I can try," he said. "It might a day or two…. I don't want Kenneth to get suspicious of me, too. There are only a few days left until the Holidays, though… Maybe I can make it seem like I've reconsidered where my loyalties lie, now that I'm about to go home. Ignore me – or act like you're angry at me. Kenneth will believe me, I think."

"He will, definitely," Tom said, smiling in relief. "Kenneth's not nearly as clever as he likes to think he is." Tom hesitated. "But why – I mean, aren't you worried about the other Slytherins? Kenneth already has one of the Prefects on his side, and most of the House hates me. I –"

"The others won't dare give me trouble," Julian said, looking as stiff as he had when Tom had first met him. "Father is a powerful man, and our family is among the last of the Pure-bloods."

"Yes, but…." Tom trailed off. He'd been trying to get Julian on his side for weeks now – so why was he suddenly worrying about Julian's willingness to help him? It was just that… did Julian had some hidden reason for helping him out? Did he want something from him? Julian was unquestionably a Slytherin, as nice as he sometimes seemed….

"If you'd rather not have my help, of course –"

"No, of course I want your help!" Tom said hastily. "I just wanted to make sure you won't be making too much trouble for yourself by helping me. But if you're sure that you don't mind…."

"I'm sure," Julian said firmly.

Across the room, Tom saw Kenneth entering the Great Hall and walking towards the Slytherin table. "Kenneth's here," he said quickly. "Good luck – and thanks!" Tom gathered up his things, abandoning his half-eaten breakfast, and headed towards the Hufflepuff table. Halfway there, Kenneth caught his eye and sneered; Tom resisted the urge to smirk at him, and instead hurried towards Jennifer and Adam, feeling more cheerful than he had in a long while.


End file.
